Down Once More
by Dark Lady of the Sonnets
Summary: After a betrayal by Raoul, Erik takes Christine in. A friendship forms, but when the Girys get pulled back into their lives, will their growing feelings for each other survive the changes? E/C
1. Chapter 1

Yay! A new phic! So... the Phantom of the Opera doesn't belong to me, but I wish it did.

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Christine woke up to the bright sun in a still unfamiliar bed. She groaned inwardly and turned over when she remembered what was in store for her that day. _Wedding preparations. _Ugh. She loved Raul and truly did want to marry him, but she was dreading the ceremony.

Since her fiancé was a vicomte, the wedding would be very large. There would be many noble people there she didn't know what were disapproving of Raoul's choice in a bride. Christine just wanted something smaller, with just friends and close family in attendance, but that would be a scandal to the de Chagnys.

After a few minutes of contemplating her staying in bed, she reluctantly surrendered and got up. She quickly donned a dress that was from Raoul and went downstairs for breakfast with her fiancé. His brother was away on business, so it was the pair of them sitting at the table that morning.

"Good morning little Lotte," he said cheerfully, kissing the top of her head.

"Good morning," she replied, not quite as cheerfully.

Over breakfast, the discussed the wedding. Christine didn't say anything about how the grandness of the whole affair bothered her. She knew that Raoul would make a fuss, causing his already disapproving relatives to detest her and her simple tastes all the more.

A few minutes after the meal had been cleared; Raoul's aunt Heloise and his sister Renee arrived in a carriage. They had taken over all of the wedding planning, Heloise feeling that Christine's tastes weren't elevated enough, and Renee being dragged into it all by her.

After saying goodbye to Raoul with an inward sigh, Christine stepped into the carriage unenthusiastically.

"What took you so long?" Heloise snapped at her sharply.

Christine answered,"Raoul kept me."

"My Raoul would never do that!" his aunt insisted, "He is too good a boy!"

"Hello Christine," Renee said softly. She was also opposed to the marriage between her brother and the opera singer, but she still tried to be at least civil to Christine.

"Hello," Christine said politely to her future sister-in-law.

Any conversation that might have continued then was stifled by bumpy potholes that made speech impossible. A few silent minutes later, the coach stopped and the driver helped the women out of the carriage and they walked into the store.

Christine, Heloise, and Renee shopped for Christine's wedding dress, Or, more accurately, Heloise and Renee shopped. Raoul's aunt wouldn't listen to any of Christine's opinions, so the bride-to-be didn't waste her breath. That was a lesson she learned within her first hour of being with Heloise a while ago. She effectively became a living, life-size Barbie doll.

The gowns that were chosen for her were all much too frivolous and fancy for Christine's taste, but they _were_ pretty nonetheless. At times, Heloise's taste was much to over the top, and she had to be reigned in by Renee. Around noon, they had lunch.

For Christine, it was very unpleasant; Heloise picked out all of her flaws and complained about them. Renee just tried to have a conversation with Christine, but to no avail because her aunt dominated the conversation. On Renee's face was an apologetic expression that said to Christine _Sorry about my crazy aunt. If I could help you I, definitely would. _

After lunch, it was back onto their hunt for the perfect dress at another store.

All the time getting in and out of the elaborate dresses gave Christine a chance to think. Mostly, her mind wandered to Erik, her fallen angel. It had been about two months since he had let her and Raul go from his lair. Although she was terrified of him and also grateful he let her and Raoul out of his hellish torture chamber, she missed him. Well, not _him,_ just his songs in her head and his tutelage. She didn't actually miss the man himself, she had been suffering from nighmares about him ever since she escaped the cellars.

Later that day, on their way home in they carriage, they drove past the Opera Populaire, which was being repaired extensively after the fire. The outside was nearly finished, so it looked almost the way it used to. The inside would still take months to complete. As they passed it, Christine felt a wave an emotion that was very close to homesickness envelope her. The Girys were staying with relatives until the opera house was fixed. She hadn't seen Madame Giry or Meg in a while. _Was Erik still down there? _she wondered randomly.

When they arrived back at Raul's house, Christine went up to her room.

"I have a headache," she muttered as she went up to her rom to lie down. Just being with Heloise was tiring.

Heloise and Renee had something to talk about with Raoul and Philippe, who had returned when she was gone. After an hour, it was dinnertime, and Christine's headache had subsided. The table seemed quieter than usual, and she might have imagined that there were some odd looks in Raoul and her directions. Christine sensed there was something amiss, but she simply dismissed it as an aftereffect of her headache.

When they were done, Raoul said,"Christine, may I speak to you in private?"

"Of course," she answered, wondering what he had to say.

Rapul led his fiancé upstairs to the library, where he closed the door with a sigh. His face was disappointed and pleading.

"Christine, I have to break off the engagement."

The girl felt dizzy and confused,"Why? What?"

"All the members of my family oppose us getting married. I'm very sorry, but I just can't do that to them. I know that I said I did't care if they disowned me, but I made a deal with them. I said I'd break off the engagment and take some time for all of us to think and please them for a while. For now at least, Philippe wants you out of the house. While you're gone, I'll try to make them see our case."

Unchecked tears began pooling in Christine's eyes,"Really?"

"Tomorrow night." He continued more tenderly,"I want you to know that I love you."

The two embraced tightly. "I love you, too Raoul," Christine whispered against his torso.

Disbelief was Christine's main reaction to Raoul's news. She had known that Raoul's family didn't like her at all, but she felt there was something missing. She knew that Raoul had risked his life for her in the cellars, so she didn't understand why he had broken off the engagement when all that stood in their way was his family. They didn't look like much when you compaired them to Erik. _Why Raoul? _she thought, _Why?_

Christine's next day was spent packing her few belongings up and trying to figure out where to go. There were a few ideas she toyed with, but in the end, she decided to stay with the Girys. Surely, their cousins would understand that she was a part of the family. If not, maybe Madame Giry would know where she could stay. It had been a while since she had seen either of them, and she missed them a lot.

Before she left to go to the train station that night to get a ticket, she said a teary-eyed good-bye to Raoul.

"I love you, don't forget that," he said to her softly as they embraced.

"I love you too, Raoul," she managed to choke out through the tears,"With all my heart."

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Thank you to all that reviewed, positive or not. You all really helped me out!


	2. Chapter 2

I'd say that I'm sorry this took so long, but I spent a lot of time editing. Disclaimer I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. Did you really think I did?

Raoul forlornly watched his love walk off onto the gathering night. _Oh Christine what have I done? _he thought with anguished. He turned around to go upstairs and be alone, when he saw his brother standing there, studying him.

"You will thank me for this later, Raoul. Maybe not for some time, but you'll see," the elder brother said softly. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was thinking about something else.

"What would youknow, Philippe?" Raoul asked bitterly.

"More than you know. I'll tell you sometime. Just remember, years from now, you _will _thank me." Philippe sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"I doubt it." Raoul pushed past him, angry at his brother.

Meanwhile, Christine made her way to the train station. It wasn't far away, and she was walking quickly. _Damn them! _She though angrily _Why does Raoul's family ruin everything? _Inside, she was aching. All she really wanted at that moment was Madame Giry and Meg. They were the closest thing she had to family, and telling it to them would make her feel better. She needed a shoulder to cry on.

Normally, that was what Raoul was there for. In any other circumstance, she would have run to him and told him everything that happened. _But Raoul isn't here. Why didn't he stop them? _Christine quickened her pace, not wanted to answer her internal question.

It wasn't fair, really, the tree of them working together like that. She knew that if it were just one of them, Raoul and she would still be together. _They probably got other relatives involved. _She scowled. If she only had just one ally, maybe she would still be in Raoul's house. They'd be laughing and talking in the drawing room. _What I wouldn't give to have it all back! _

Christine arrived at the station. That evening, it was quiet. No, not just quiet, deserted. Christine was the only one there. _What's going on? _There was no one there. It seemed like no one had been there in a while. She walked cautiously to the ticket window. It was obviously deserted.

"Closed," a sign read,"due to repair on the tracks. We are sorry for the inconvenience. Hopefully, we shall resume running trains in the spring."

Christine's initial reaction was rage. Her anger at Raoul and his family bubbled to the surface. _Inconvenience! _She nearly spluttered the word aloud. _Inconvenience! You call severing my link to the closest thing I have to a mother and a sister an _inconvenience!

It took several minutes for her to calm down. Then, all she felt was desperation. Now she had nowhere to go. Taking a carriage was definitely out of the question; it was too expensive. The opera house was under construction, no one could stay there. It looked like she would have to find a place of her own until she could get to the Girys.

The prospect of living on her own frightened Christine. At heart, she was little more than a child, and she was scared. _Madame Giry I need you now! _For know, though the real question was where she would stay that night.

As if they would find her a place to stay, Christine's feet seemed to take her where they wanted to go. For a while, she just wandered around Paris, half in a daze as her thoughts chased each other around her head. _Where can I go? _It almost became constant. _Where can I go?_

So far, the only idea that occurred to Christine was to go from door to door. She dismissed the idea quickly. Pride and dignity wouldn't let her become a beggar.

On she wandered. Dark fell. Christine began to feel that her search for somewhere to sleep would be futile, at least for that night. So Christine drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and marched on.

Randomly, the girl began to wonder what time it was. After a few more minutes of aimless wandering, Christine found a clock in a square. 10:37, it read. _Definitely time for bed._

With a sigh, Christine gave up and saw that she would have to sleep outside, for that night at least. She was left wondering a few things. _Where will be the most comfortable? What if someone wakes me up? What if I talk in my sleep? _A thousand other questions buzzed around the girl's head.

Slowly, icy tendrils of fear got a grip on Christine. She was drained, both physically and emotionally. The events of the day had worn her out. Her body was screaming to she needed rest. She felt alone and vulnerable, like a child separated from their mother in a store.

Finally, she came to a spot across from the damaged opera house. _This will be as good as anywhere else I suppose. _With a sigh, she laid down awkwardly and said her prayers. When she still thought that Erik was the Angel of Music, she always said her prayers to him; he promised her that he would bring them straight to god. _Some angel he turned out to be. I wonder if he's under there now, _she thought as she glanced down the street at the opera house.

It took her almost no time to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Christine could sleep through anything; a fact Meg and the other ballet girls always teased her about.

"Christine, you could sleep through anything!" they always said, "even Carlotta's singing!"

So Christine never stirred when a mysterious man who had come from the direction of the opera house lifted her up and carried her to Rue Scribe around one o'clock. The streets in the area were all deserted, so no one witnessed what happened. Because of her deep sleep, Christine had no inkling that anything happened to her whatsoever until she woke up that morning in a different place than where she went to sleep that night.

When she opened her eyes, she knew exactly where she was._ Oh god! How did I get here of all places! _

Thank you to all that reviewed! Now, go do it again!


	3. Chapter 3

**After rereading this chapter, I was really unhappy with it, so I went back and edited it. Disclaimer: I do not Own POTO, ect. **

Christine sat up in bed and blinked, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. No, she wasn't . She was actually there. _Why me? Why did I have to get dragged into all of this ridiculous phantom business?_

She got up off the bed and went to the door. Before she turned the handle, she hesitated. _Do I really want to see him? Maybe he'll leave me alone if I don't look for him. _But she needed answers. She needed to know how she had woken up here in the first place. _Besides, he'll come looking for me soon anyway. It's just a matter of time. _

With an inner sigh, Christine left the bedroom. Looking at the room again sent a flood of memories to the surface. _The music lessons, the first time I was down here, that eerie doll, _Don Juan Triumphant, _his face, Raoul saving me… _The memories were clearer now, standing in Erik's house.

As she looked around the room, Christine realized it was missing something; Erik, the opera ghost himself. _Where is he?_

As if to answer her question, organ music drifted from Erik's room. It was sad and sweet, with a soft melody of longing and hope and love, but jarred occasionally by sour notes of rejection and betrayal resounded in the piece. Christine closed her eyes for a moment and let the sound wash over her. As she listened, Christine remembered, just for a moment, the reason that she'd truly believed Erik was the Angel of Music. All of the emotions conveyed in the song were so, so _tangible. _Christine could feel, through the music, everything that Erik felt. Then, as abruptly as the understanding came, it went.

Unexpectedly, the music ended. _Why did he stop? It was so beautiful. _Christine used the brief silence to call out to him tentatively. "Erik? Are you there?"

"Christine! I an here," was the reply. _His voice! I had forgotten how magnificent it is!_

Christine walked into the music room timidly. Truth be told, she was a bit frightened of what he would do to her. After all, she had broken his heart. Shattered it. One does not get over something like that quickly.

"Erik?" she asked warily. "How did I get here?"

Christine didn't know how he was feeling, due to his mask, so she listened carefully to his reply. "I saw you sleeping on the streets! What did you expect me to do? I'd never dream of leaving you there."

He seemed to be calm. _Thank god he isn't angry! _"I see…"

"Now, I believe that _you _owe _me _an explanation. Why were you sleeping outside? I thought the _Vicomte _was taking care of you. Weren't you going to be married?" A hard edge entered his voice on the words Vicomte and married.

_Why did he have to mention Raoul? _Christine's tears started anew at the mention of her ex-fiancé and their broken engagement. "I… don't want to talk about it," she managed to choke out and turn away from Erik.

"Something upsets you. Will you sit next to me?" He made a space for her on the other end of the piano bench.

Hesitantly, Christine sat on the bench next to Erik. _The cold, the smell, I had forgotten. How does he get like that anyway?_

"Christine?" he asked again, anxiety and concern coloring his voice She realized that her tears were frightening him. _Nowhere near as much as he frightens me._

"It was… Raoul," she said, sniffing and drying her eyes. "We… had to break off… our engagement."

"Why?" Erik's voice lifted and Christine felt him sit up a little straighter. _Is he glad? The monster! He's _happy _I broke off an engagement. So much for letting me go…_

"His family." Mentally, Christine replayed everything that happened with Raoul since they went their separate ways. The teary good-bye, the wandering, and waking up in Erik's lair. _Why me? _she mentally repeated.

"I am sorry to see you so sad," Erik said simply.

Christine's tears had ended, for the moment. She wiped her eyes again and just nodded. Erik wordlessly offered her a handkerchief that had been lying on the organ.

Christine blew her nose, trying to clean herself up. In truth, her tears had made her feel embarrassed. The show of emotion made her blush. It disconcerted her to wear her heart on her sleeve like that. To make matters worse, Erik was gawking at her.

"What are you staring at?" she asked miserably.

"It hurts me to see you like that. I want to help, but I do not know how." Erik replied. Looking into his yellow eyes, Christine had the sense that he was thinking of something else. She decided not to press the matter. _If he wanted me to know, he would have said it straight out. _

"Oh," was her brilliant reply.

"Come," Erik said, "We will sing. Then maybe you will feel better."

A pained look took hold of Christine's features. _He expects me to stay, doesn't he? I should have expected that. Erik wouldn't bring me here just to let me go the next morning. How long does he think I'll stay here?_

Under his mask, Erik's face held almost the same expression. In other circumstances, their similar looks would have been almost comical. "Christine does not want to sing with Erik. She wants to go. Erik is a fool; he should have known better," The dejected tone in the angelic voice was so heart-breaking, it hurt to listen to.

A part of Christine's heart softened for a moment when she heard Erik's voice _Although he is a monster__, there is no reason to hurt him so. I guess I could stay here a while._

"I'll sing with you Erik," Christine said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Christine is a good girl." Erik said joyfully, to himself. He continued to her, "I will find something to sing."

As Erik dug through the piles of sheet music scattered in and around his organ, Christine waited patiently. _He's so happy. I'm glad I stayed._

When Christine sang with Erik, she was transported to another place. She forgot about Raoul, finding a place to stay, and her fear of Erik, losing herself in the music. _It has been so long since I have sung! How I've missed it!_

After what seemed like mere minutes to Christine, Erik finally said that they were finished. "You mustn't strain your voice. When the opera house is finished, you will be the star again."

A thought occurred to Christine. "Erik, what time is it?"

"I believe that it is around two in the afternoon," he glanced at the clock behind him,"are you hungry?"

Christine thought about it for a second. She realized she was hungry. _How had I not noticed it before? _"Yes I am."

Erik cooked a meal for Christine. It wasn't much, just some chicken. Christine ate in an awkward silence. _Why does he keep staring at me? _Christine squirmed in her seat and ate as quickly as she could, trying to avoid Erik's disturbing gaze.

After the meal, Erik retreated into his music room, and Christine could hear him composing. For some time, she drifted around the house on the lake and reflected on the events of the past two days. She tried to think of the most tactful way to tell Erik she wanted to go. _It's only a matter of time before he explodes or murders again. I don't want to be here for that. _How many of the workers had died in "accidents" during construction? Their deaths were jokingly blamed on the Opera Ghost. _If they only knew. _

As she mulled over all that happened, Christine wondered how she could tell Erik she needed to leave. _If I say something that offends him, he might hurt me. He already knows that I don't want to be here. He knows that I'm afraid of him. Was does he honestly expect me to do?_

Christine contemplated where she'd go if Erik let her leave. _I guess I'd have to sleep on the street again. I really need somewhere of my own. _An errant thought wormed its way into Christine's mind. _What if I just stay here? _She instantly dismissed it. Erik frightened her with his volatile ways. There was no way she could stay where she was. Living with a madman was simply not an option.

After another lap around the lake, Christine decided what she would do.

**There might not be a lot of updates for this story for a while, but when they come, they will be frequent. **


	4. Chapter 4

Philippe watched his sad younger brother walk to his room. For the past week, Raoul had been dreadfully depressed. _He'll get over it. I know. I was there. _Philippe knew very well. Ballet dancers like Daae _and Sorelli _were very attractive, but below their noble class. Philippe had learned that the hard way. _Or did I? Do I still love Sorelli? _They were questions that had haunted him since Father had made him say goodbye to the beautiful dancer. For years, Philippe had wondered if he made the right decision telling his lover farewell. Both of them had been crushed when their dreams of eloping had been shattered, and whenever he saw her at the opera, he could see the saddness in her eyes when she looked at him. _But I'm happier now. Right? _He could only hope that the same would be true for Raoul, that making him turn the Daae girl out was the right thing to do. Philippe still wondered about what could have been with the dancer that stole his heart. Raoul and Christine's relationship brought back too many painful memories. A large part of him was glad that the girl was out. but it made him feel horrribly guilty.

Once he was inside his room, Raoul sat down at his desk and cradled his head in his hands. All that week, he couldn't seem to get Christine out of his mind. Philippe had tried to keep him busy; there had been balls, people to meet, and things to do, but no matter where he was or what he was doing, he couldn't seem to completely escape the pain of losing her. _Oh Christine... _He regretted submitting to his family and doing his social duty. All he wanted at that moment was a second chance. _What did I do? _He still didn't understand how he had been able to say all of the things that had broken Christine's heart. It seemed easy at the time; they assured him that he would find someone new, and get over it. However, he and Christine had been through so much together, that whole ghastly nightmare with the Opera Ghost. _How could I be so stupid? How could I listen to them?_

Raoul was desperate to just _communicate _with her. That wasn't forbidden. She could still be part of his life. Christine was his truest friend, and he missed her terribly. Raoul knew that letters wouldn't be enough for him, but it would be close. _Maybe in another place, another time... _His betrayal had changed things, he knew. It was a definate possibility that she was angry with him. Their relationship was definately fractured. _But not beyond repair, god willing. _

He would write a letter.

The hope of contacting Christine renewed Raoul's sense of purpose. Lately, the young Vicomte had been feeling lost. There had been little for him to do that interested him. Life began to become boring without Christine, his closest companion. Even Philippe, who had always been a doting older brother, seemed less inclined to go anywhere with Raoul. He lifted his head from his hands and sat up a little straighter. Quickly, he fished out some stationery, ink, and a pen out of his drawer and began to write. For a second, he was reminded of the Phantom's threatening notes. _The monster. _However, his letter was going to be one of an entirely different nature.

As he wrote his letter, Raoul almost felt content. The notion that his love would soon be reading his words calmed the young Vicomte. In his letter, Raoul apologized to Christine. He told her that he regretted what he did to her and that he wished they still could be friends. _My family never forbade friendship. Only marriage. _

After signing the letter and allowing the ink to dry, Raoul addressed the envelope hurriedly, but still in the neat penmanship he had retained since he was little. With an excitement close to a child sending a letter to Santa, Raoul immediately summoned a carriage to ferry him to the post office to send his letter. _I do hope she writes back. _Without knowing how Christine felt, that seemed likely.

Antoinette Giry had been up since five o'clock that morning. She had always been an early riser, but lately, her sleeping patterns had been different. The ballet mistress had been restless for the last few weeks. Since the fire at the opera house, she and Meg had been staying with their cousins.

The lack of things to do here was getting to Madame Giry. Sure, there were plenty off chores that she could help with, but none of it compared with the business of directing all of the opera's ballet girls. Lately, Meg had been forced to bear the brunt of her mother's anxiety. There was also another thing that had been plaguing Antoinette; the absence of Christine Daae. For the first time since she was a shy little girl who had come to the opera to be a ballerina, the girl wasn't in walking distance from her surrogate mother. It was a fact that disconcerted Madame Giry.

In her restlessness, she decided to walk to town to see if there was any mail for her cousins. Going into the small village about a mile over was a chore Madame Giry did frequently and readily. The weather was warmer, and walking gave her time to think and to rest from spending so much time with her hyperactive daughter. She and Meg had tried to help their Jacques and Marie out in any way that they could. It was their way of helping to repay their for their kindness and warm hospitality.

"Bonjour Jean. Is there any mail for Jacques or Marie?" she asked the man at the post office when she finally arrived there.

He looked back at her with his brown, heavily-lidded eyes. He was tall with a thick, dark brown beard. Everytime that Mme. Giry had come to see if there was any mail, he had always been a bit gruff, but polite, nevertheless. His name was Jean, and Mme. Giry also knew that he was friends with her cousin Jacques.

"No," he replied, "but this was to a Christine Daae. It was addressed to their place."

_Christine? Why would she be here?_ "I will take it."

She walked home, staring at the letter in her hands with the same puzzled look she gave Meg when she was rambling. The note was addressed to Christine, from Raoul. _Why would he send her a letter here?_Madame Giry could only conclude one thing after examining the enigma from every angle; Raoul and Christine had broken off their engagement. If that happened, Christine would come here, it was the only place for her to stay, but something must have happened to her on her way. It was simple logic, really. _I must go to Paris!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry I took so long, but I've started two other stories and I read Susan Kay's **_**Phantom**_** (It rocked by the way!). I won't bother you with the rest of my excuses.**

**You know the drill: I do not own **_**Phantom of the Opera.**_

**Please feel free to enjoy and/or review.**

Life under the opera house settled into an almost comfortable rhythm for Erik and Christine. Christine's aversion to the deformed man had lessened since she decided that he was a friend, or something close to it. Christine's attitude towards Erik made him ecstatic; he thought he was getting more than he deserved. At times, he still wanted more, but he never said that aloud. Her presence was enough to make him content, when he was in a good mood. For her, he would overlook the wound that his unrequited love had slashed through is heart and try to take advantage of her now-ubiquitous presence and be, not exactly cheerful, but something jollier than the customary state of depression that he'd always lived in before. However, Christine often thought of Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry. Her mind often wandered to thoughts of what they were doing. Although Erik provided for Christine's needs well, he couldn't provide her with something she had been yearning for since she moved in with Raoul, her best friend, Meg. She knew that she could trust Erik never to betray any of her secrets, but her relationship with him lacked the sisterly bond that connected her with Meg, the bond that made Meg the one person that Christine trusted with any piece of information. Erik, on the other hand was too reactive to confide in completely. For her to tell him how hurt and angry Raoul had made her feel could result in Raoul's death, which Christine didn't want, even though she despised him. Nevertheless, this didn't take away from the blossoming friendship that was beginning to develop between Christine and Erik. Neither of them expected to have a sisterly relationship akin to Christine and Meg's. Christine had been longing for a close _female_ friend to talk to for a while. Raoul had been the only one she felt comfortable confiding in there. _And look what ended up happening with him._ The last time she had spoken to Meg was backstage during _Don Juan Triumphant_, before they were yelled at for talking in the wings during the performance. Understandably, Raoul had been in a hurry to leave after they left Erik's lair, and she never got the chance to say good-bye to her friend. The lack of a decent good-bye before such a long separation disquieted Christine.

"Have you spoken to Madame Giry?" Christine inquired one evening at dinner.

"No, I haven't. The trains aren't running, as you know," Erik had answered dully.

"Oh." Christine sighed, but tried to hide her disappointment by taking another bite. She already knew the trains weren't running through first hand experience.

After that, the pair returned to their usual mealtime quiet. If Mme. Giry wasn't coming in person, then she wouldn't send a letter to the Paris opera house, care of the ghost. She was the only one, excepting Christine, that could go down to deliver Erik's mail, if he got any, without dying or being otherwise maimed. It looked like Christine wouldn't hear from either of the Girys until the trains started running or the opera house was finished being repaired. _That could be a long time from now. _The girl despaired.

Being in the house on the lake was making Christine restless. There was nothing for her to do. Her boredom made her miss Meg and Madame Giry even more. The absence of a confidante was causing the ferocious cycle. And she felt as though she would burst if she couldn't tell Meg all that she needed to. She would even settle for talking to Mme. Giry.

Although she tried to hide it, Erik could see that Christine wasn't happy. Before the events after _Don Juan, _he would have let her go already, only wanting her to be happy, but losing her once had hardened him. He promised himself that if he had another chance again, Christine would remain with him. No matter what. When he let her go after the kiss, he had not been thinking straight, delusional with happiness that she would do such a thing, rendered senseless with love. Now his life had become the depressing hellhole that it had been before, he realized what a grave mistake he had made, possibly detrimental to his satisfaction. The possessive nature that had always been inherently a part of Erik was so..._enraged _that he lost possession of the one thing in life that still mattered to him and he couldn't bear to lose. _Fool! _He mentally berated himself countless times during those bleak days. So, for now at least, Christine would remain in the house on the lake, whether she liked it or not because Erik had made a promise to himself that it would destroy him to break.

Then next week and a half became exceedingly monotonous for Christine. She was used to a routine from the strict schedule Madame Giry kept for the ballet rats, but, there was nothing for her to do to amuse herself except sing and talk to Erik, and Erik was not the best conversationalist. For Christine, time became almost immaterial in Erik's lair. She never knew what time it was unless she asked Erik, who carried an old battered-looking pocket watch. Even then, she didn't know if it was day or night. She could have become completely nocturnal and never know it! An unexpected visitor interrupted their strange, yet quiet life one day. She came when they were eating. With Erik, there was not a routine, so they simply ate when they were hungry. Usually, this still ended up to be around normal mealtimes. Neither of them spoke much during meals; that was another thing that Christine had found, it was easy to be quiet with Erik.

The peaceful hush that had taken root under the opera was suddenly shattered by the piecing sound of Erik's siren.

Christine nearly dropped her fork in surprise. "Who could that be?" she asked apprehensively.

Erik stood up quickly and didn't answer her. Although she couldn't see his face, Christine could tell that he was incensed, especially by his brusque action. Lately, she had improved in reading Erik's body language, but she still could not predict his impossibly capricious moods.

Without a word, he departed. Christine assumed that he was going to see what was causing the awful din, but with Erik, one never knew for sure. She stood up to follow him and, the noise disappeared as suddenly as it came. Christine paused a few feet away from the door; the sudden absence of the siren's wail created a strange, vacuum-like emptiness. In truth, she was a little frightened. Entering Erik's lair was most likely death for anyone who entered the house on the lake. Except her. Despite herself, Christine smiled. _Being the only one allowed here is almost... special._ Then, her more logical side rebuked her. _Of course, you are allowed here. You live here. _She had never thought of it that way. _Odd._ She had never considered living with Erik in that sense before. It seemed more like she was staying with a friend for a visit than actually calling the labyrinthine structure under the opera house her home. _Is this my home now?_

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts suddenly. Erik was back, and he was accompanied by someone else. Someone Christine had wanted to see for ages. _But how had she gotten here? _At the moment, it didn't matter to Christine. She was here; they could speak about how she arrived later. Upon seeing the visitor, Christine's face lit up in a way it hadn't since Erik was simply her Angel of Music, heaven-sent, one of the few lights in the dark time in her life.

"Hello!" Christine gushed, "Erik this is wonderful!"

"I have to agree with you," he replied. Judging from his tone, he was smiling, not that she could see behind his mask.

Forgetting herself for a moment, Christine launched herself into the newcomer's arms as a small child would when being picked up from nursery school.

"How did you get here?" she asked wonderingly.

"I'll explain to you, my dear. It is a long story," the newcomer said.


	6. Chapter 6

**To all who reviewed: You always make my day! I love you all!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, ect. If I still need to tell you this, then you really need help.**

Erik, Madame Giry, and Christine sat down at the kitchen table. If there was a drawing room, they would have gone there, but the house on the lake was unlike other houses. Most other houses were not subterranean and did not possess a torture chamber. Mme. Giry told Erik and Christine about Raoul's letter, her alarm, how she came back to Paris. Then she recounted how she wrote a letter to the police, saying that she had information on the unresolved Phantom of the Opera mystery.

"You didn't tell them the truth?" Erik had asked, incensed, after hearing that part of the story.

"No," the ballet mistress replied evenly, "You know I wouldn't do that. I told them a false story."

In her letter, she had told the police that she didn't have transportation to the police headquarters in Paris, where they told her to go if she had any information during the investigation. Graciously, the _gendarmes_ provided her with a carriage. The strange affairs at the opera and the police's inability to find the opera ghost had been a severe blow to their pride. They were more than willing to get Madame Giry a carriage if it helped them save face, though they had already been publicly humiliated.

"How is Meg?" Christine asked eagerly when Mme. Giry was finished.

"She misses you, my dear. I think that she also misses dancing," Madame Giry said.

"You're cousins' house must be boring to her."

"You will see for yourself," the older woman said with a warm smile.

Once more, Erik tensed up visibly, and his golden eyes flashed dangerously. Madame Giry's simple statement was all that it took to rouse Erik's indomitable fury.

"Christine stays here," Erik said; the beauty of his voice countered by a hard firmness.

Christine nearly jumped out of her seat from her indignation. _What the _hell_ does he think he's doing?_ _What right does he have to decide this?_

"I will not let her go," Erik added.

"Erik, you cannot do that," Madame Giry said firmly, unafraid of Erik's anger, frighteningly swift it had been.

"How will you top me?" he asked. Erik's question hung in the air, awaiting an answer.

Silence.

There was no answer to it. There was no way that Madame Giry was going to stop Erik, especially when he was in a temper like this one. _. _All the older woman could do was try to ride out the storm at this point. She could try to influence him and protest, but ultimately, _he_ had the power over _her. _All the older woman could do was try to ride out the storm at this point. Somehow, it always seemed as though he was in control.

"Why?" Christine asked. The word was sharp and quick; everything about her tone conveyed her resentment over what Erik had just said.

"Because I don't want you to go." Erik sounded calmly matter-of-fact, but he possessed to most deceptive voice in the world. Inside, he felt horribly guilty. _I cannot_ _let her go. It would be my undoing, but I hate to see her like this. Why must I be subjected to this?_

"Erik..."Madame Giry began.

"No," he cut her off, "Christine stays with Erik. If you cannot accept that then leave."

"Fine," said the ballet mistress, standing up,"But you may want to rethink this." With just an apologetic look at Christine, she left.

Christine and Erik sat in an uncomfortable silence until the footsteps died away. Both of them were still fuming. Christine now had another cause for anger; Erik had driven away Madame Giry before Christine could talk to her sufficiently, effectively chaining her back to the brutal cycle that the ballet mistress's arrival could have broken.

"Why are you doing this?" Christine turned on him suddenly. _Why won't he let me go? He did it before. I'll never understand him...that monster._

"If I tried to explain it to you, my dear, you would never understand. I am sorry," his voice was tinged with real regret.

_I am sorry. Is this the first time he had ever apologized to me?_ She replayed her conversations with Erik mentally. Before, he never seemed to regret anything. _He's sorry that he's keeping me here, but he doesn't regret taking Joseph Bouquet's life. Or anyone else's'. How many people _has_ he killed? _He had always seemed to be confident in what ever he was doing. This was a rare time she that she glimpsed the more fragile part of him, rather than the blazing angry madman or the sensitive musical genius._ Erik honestly is a mystery._

Or, rather, he loved her, not that Christine considered that. That was the _real_ solution to the puzzle.

Erik finally stood up and walked over to his organ. He had so many emotions he needed to vent. Guilt, frustration, love, and a secret, smug, satisfaction that Christine was with him, not Raoul, even if it did upset her. Disappointment and anger flavored the stew, too. _I am such a selfish creature. A demon like me doesn't deserve an angel like her. _She _is the true Angel of Music, not me. She had it backwards. _If she could hear his thoughts, Christine would tell Erik to stop berating himself. She did not think that he was a demon, just her poor, unhappy Erik.

Listening to his music, Christine could hear the self-loathing resounding through the melody he played. _Don Juan? No, that's simply angry and jealous. This must be new._ She listened for a moment because it was exquisite in an odd sort of way that defined most of what Erik wrote. It was unique in its own right. _I've heard it said that what we write reflects us somehow. _Everything he sang or wrote was beautiful. _Is Erik beautiful? _His work certainly was. _If only the world could see. _The one chance he had to show his creation to the world in its full glory had been ruined by Christine. _If I were him, I'd be angry at myself. He never was. Erik is forgiving that way._ She listened once more to the music, letting it give her an insight to his mind. Only in his music were emotions expressed so readily and blatantly. Christine was sure she had never heard anything like it, not even the music her father played came close. It was as though the physical mask he wore supplanted the intangible mask other composers wore, hesitating to put their real emotion into their compositions. What he put into the pieces was more than simple notes and rhythms; it was his emotions, pure, unadulterated, and true. _There's something distinctive in that that's really quite special._

Listening to the organ gave Christine a clear picture of how Erik felt. It always had. It was just as intimate as a heart to heart talk with him because this way, there was nothing that he could hide. Everything was laid out right at Christine's feet. She could understand him in a way she could never before.

Recalling the moment even years later, her hindsight was clear. Even before the point she was at now, she had simply listened to the music, and hear his emotions, but now, she felt them. It could be compared to the way that the best actors _become_ the character, rather than portraying them. She let herself feel.

Her stomach also squirmed with unease. It felt strange, knowing so much about him, yet him knowing so little about her. Closing her eyes, she continued to revel in the organ's sound and let herself go through what Erik was and connect with him. They had been friends now, and the fibers that bound them suddenly wound all the tighter. But the awkwardness that had wormed its way into her mind ruined the effect that the music just had before. _I know so little about him, but he knows so much about me. _All that Christine knew about Erik's history was what Madame Giry told her; she knew nothing else. There was bound to be more, and she was sure that there were some things that Erik wouldn't mind telling her. The subject of his parents, for instance, was one thing that she was sure he knew at least a little about. _Everyone has parents, no?_ Christine wanted to bridge the gap and understand all that happened to him before she was there. Erik had observed her for years, and yet she had gone a while not knowing that he was human!

There was only one roadblock that prevented Christine from asking all of the questions that swirled around her head; fear. Christine was scared to get inside Erik's head for fear of what she would find there. Erik's nature was a wild, irrational and untamable thing, and there were many sides and paradoxes within it. He was violent, yet childlike, and ragingly angry, yet gentle. Human nature made Christine shy away from the dark unknown, but the part of her touched by his love and music longed to reach out to him and touch the very object of her fears back. The sides of Christine were at war, much like they had been when she was forced to choose between Erik and Raoul. For the most part, she wanted to stay with Raoul and safety, light, and all the things she had dreamed about as a child. The small fraction of her that wanted to stay with Erik, the darker side that had mostly been silenced was making war with the rest of her. To that part of her, being with Erik meant life with someone who cared about her deeply and a fantasy world of music far away from everything else. The portion that wanted to stay with Erik was a small rebel group calling for a coup. It was minute, but that didn't stop it from crying out, "Erik! Choose Erik! Have no fear!"

Inside the poor young woman, there was a war, and she would never be truly happy until she let one side triumph. Would she reach out to her angel or cringe away from the monster? At the moment, there was no clear winner, either one could prevail. She would know when she reached the next point, the point of no return.


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own POTO!**

Lately, Christine had been distancing herself from Erik. It may have been for the better; she still hadn't gotten over their fight over leaving. Christine was quieter and more subdued. All Erik's time invested in observing Christine had made him an expert on reading her. Something was troubling his angel. Naturally, Erik assumed that he was the cause of her consternation. It was just in his nature to hate and punish himself. Christine couldn't help but notice the way his exhilaration quickly deflated like a balloon. He had been so happy just to be around her, especially when she was offering friendship. It wasn't all that he wanted, but Erik would settle for it. The minute that he thought himself upsetting Christine, he regressed back into the poor, unhappy Erik that Christine had recoiled from in fear after learning he wasn't an angel.

By now, Christine had adjusted to his fearsome mood swings, but this was an extraordinary transformation, even for Erik. However, Christine didn't say anything about it. Her knowledge of Erik's character had grown so she knew he didn't want to talk. _He only wants to compose. He isn't Meg. _With the thought of Meg, Christine couldn't help but express an inward sigh of longing for her best friend. Missing Meg had only added to the fierce sensation of restless discontent Christine had been experiencing.

For the next few days, she waited patiently for the hurricane of a mood to blow over, but it seemed determined to stay put and swallow Christine in its all-consuming depths. He was rapidly becoming horrible to live with. Finally, when Erik had just gruffly corrected Christine while working on a new piece of music, Christine decided she couldn't take his irritable self-pity any longer. It was just becoming too depressing.

"Erik, what has made you so sad these past few days?" she yelled unintentionally. Conveying her frustration, Christine's sentence crescendoed until she was louder and more powerful than she had ever sounded before. The adeptness at making use of her diaphragm that went along with being an opera singer was one of the reasons it wasn't a good idea to get a professional singer angry. In other circumstances, Erik would have commended his pupil on the volume and strength that she had achieved. Now, he simply hung his head and replied, "I an upsetting you." He sounded like a small child that had just been rebuked by its mother.

Christine wasn't sure how to respond. Part of her suspected that Erik was acting so oddly because of something she did, but she also was shocked somehow. _Oh._ It was only then that Christine had an inkling of just how much Erik's world revolved around her.

"Erik...you're not upsetting me," she said slowly.

Something about the poor, unhappy man before her evoked an odd protective instinct in Christine. Without thinking about it, she wrapped her arms around him in what was intended to be a comforting embrace. Immediately, his cold body stiffened in surprise. His smell of death filled Christine's nostrils. Erik was completely stunned, but not unpleasantly so. He thought that he was distressing Christine, and he now found her arms around him, like in so many of his dreams before. _Please don't wake up. Please. _He finally relaxed and hugged her back, figuring he would make the most out of this new turn of events. Christine pulled away; it was an eternity too soon for Erik. Just as when Christine kissed him, Erik began to cry.

"Don't cry," Christine said, "you didn't do anything." _Recently, at least,_ her cynical side added.

Erik didn't heed her request; the tears continued to fall. _But it was just a hug..._ Then the light bulb lit._ A hug from _me_..._

"Christine is a good girl," Erik finally managed to choke out. The tears were coming harder now.

"Erik it was just an embrace," Christine tried to assure him, "nothing much, really..."_ I can't believe I made him so_ happy. Secretly, to herself, Christine wondered what life with Erik would be like if she stayed after the opera was rebuilt. _He loves me so much, and I know that I would always have him to depend on._ Raoul had always been unable to give her that level of dedication. _He still risked his life for me. But Erik would do that, too. He doesn't have family that would hate me, either. _The two sides of Christine were battling again. For the moment, it seemed Erik had won the battle, but the war had just begun. Christine had still seen Erik when he was angry, not to mention that he was also a dangerously efficient killer.

"Christine, that was more than nothing," Erik said. His voice was steady, and it seemed the tears had stopped.

The outpouring of emotion made Christine self-conscious and embarrassed. A delicate flame began to singe her cheeks. She took out a handkerchief and handed it to Erik so she wouldn't feel so out of place.

"Here," she said softly.

Erik took it, but made no move to use it. He bestowed an expectant, purposeful look on Christine's countenance, cocking his head. Although he had his mask on, the tilt of his head and the look in his eyes somehow expressed all that someone not cumbered by a mask could.

"Are you going to use it?" she asked quizzically.

"Yes," Erik said slowly, "I will Christine. You do realize that I must take off my mask."

Christine, who had been wondering how someone with no nose was filled with chagrin when she heard Erik's statement. It brought up an issue she had given little thought to earlier, his face.

"I will stay here." The words were an odd echo of what Erik said before. _"Christine stays here." _Both of them were aware of Erik's particular behavior when matters touched on his mask. He would have fewer qualms contradicting himself if his face was a factor than when he was killing.

"No. My face is that of a monster, as you well know. Leave now," Erik sounded like he was beginning to become angry. Christine had wanted to run away so she was safe from the full torrent of his anger, but a strong core kept her steady and rooted to the spot.

"Just take off the mask I will not go," she said steadily, her voice masking her quaking insides. She couldn't leave now, for Erik's sake.

"You silly girl! Go no!" Erik practically screamed the words at Christine.

On a strange, inexplicable impulse, intuition bade Christine to take off the mask. Listening to the strangely compelling inner voice, Christine did so without hesitation. The death's head beneath the mask leapt out at her, like an element in a haunted house. Nevertheless, Christine did not falter. The image of Erik's ugly features, twisted with rage when she removed his mask was burned into her memory forever. How could she not forget that sight? She fully expected the same thing when she took off the mask a second time.

Most importantly, she did not turn away.

Erik gave a cry like a wounded animal, turning from Christine. It was the most haunting, piteous sound she had ever heard. Just hearing it made her want to cry; any normal human being would have the same inclination, listening to the piercing agonized sound.

"Give Erik his mask," Erik whispered.

"Only if you don't turn around as soon as I hand it to you."

Christine didn't expect it, but Erik wheeled around. Somehow, he seemed taller when he was angry.

"Fine. Look at Erik's face and run. Hurt him again." Somehow, that biting sarcasm hurt Christine more than any insult Erik could have thrown at her.

Finding her courage, Christine defiantly looked up and met the blazing yellow eyes before her. Erik began to walk towards her and she stepped back, almost as if they were dancing.

Christine said steadily, "See? I can look at you. You don't have to hide, Erik."

She could practically see steam coming from Erik's twisted orifices that were akin to nostrils.

"If Erik doesn't have to _hide_, then why does her live in a hole underground? Why was he rejected?"

Christine stepped back another step and hit the wall. Its cold stone was hard against her back. _I hope he doesn't hurt me._ Her next sentence could save or damn her.

"Erik..." So much for her next sentence.

Luckily, her next action averted danger. Mostly.


	8. Chapter 8

**I haven't abandoned this story!! In fact, I have almost a notebook full of this story that needs to be typed up. I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy!**

She kissed him. Again.

His face was wet with tears and he smelled like death, but she kissed him, Just like when she embraced him a few minutes before (God, it seemed like a lifetime ago now.) his immediate reaction was shock and his body froze from the sheer surprise of Christine's action. It felt like the last time they'd been like this; it felt almost identical. After his initial astonishment gave away, he kissed her back, moving his arm around her back. Raoul was the only person Christine had ever kissed besides Erik and both of their kisses were vastly different. The ones she shared with Raoul were soft and sweet and actually rather chaste. Erik's kisses were different; they were deeper and urgent, almost forceful. Although it made Christine's insides burn with shame, she admitted to herself that she enjoyed it in a strange, perverse way.

She pulled away, wanting to be in control of the situation, or at least some semblance of command. Right now, she wanted to sort out her twisted, puzzling emotions and make sense of the thoughts that were running through her head. The kiss felt like the first one she shared with Erik, but the situation was changed. She felt sure that Erik also acknowledged that this kiss it changed things. The unasked question of why she kissed him hung in the air and their minds. After all, Christine could have done a number of other things to stop Erik. Why had she kissed him? Manipulation? Experimentation? Impulse? Maybe, just maybe, love? Christine didn't have the answer, but she was the only one who could give it. The kiss had given her many confusing feelings that she needed to sift through.

They looked at each other for a long moment, but didn't really see anything. Both were too absorbed in thoughts and feelings at the moment to see anything.

"You are a mystery, Christine," Erik finally said quietly, mostly to himself.

Christine accepted his statement with a small nod. "You are to Erik," she said with a faint smile.

"I love you Christine." Another nod, the acceptance of a fact.

"I know that Erik. I want to know more about you. I was going to ask you earlier." She impulsively brought up Erik's past, not exactly sure why. It somehow felt right to Christine, as though there was something she needed to know. Besides, the conversation was driving away the intense air from before.

"There is little to tell," Erik replied dully.

A wry smile formed on Christine's lips-the acceptance of a challenge. "It doesn't matter just tell me," she said in a challenging tone.

"Why are you doing this to me? Twice you have taken my mask off then kissed me. Why do you kiss me if you do not love me?" he said, avoiding Christine's inquiries and going back to the subject that she had just tried to avoid. His voice was quiet and composed, but deceptive.

Christine was utterly thrown. There were too many questions of her own buzzing in her head to answer Erik's query. The pitiable girl was overwhelmed completely. There were too many questions without answer buzzing around menacingly in her head. She felt too pressured too pushed, like water all around her was getting higher and higher and her legs were beginning to give out. The death's head before her didn't help either.

"Here." She handed Erik his mask to stall; it didn't escape his notice that her hand was shaking. He placed it back on his face.

"You're not answering me. Is it because you're afraid? I don't want you to be afraid," he said, sounding like a little boy. He hung his head and closed his eyes. "You can leave. I don't want you to live in fear."

Christine knew exactly what she could say that would heal him, but could she say it out loud? Did she actually feel that way? All she had to say were three words, the three most meaningful words. Erik was her friend, protector, and teacher. He now meant more to her than the Angel of Music ever had. He filled her with countless feelings, made her laugh and cry...

He was at his organ, now, playing to let his emotions out into an angry song of self-loathing. To escape, he fled to the music room. As the music wore on, it seemed clearer to Christine what she could do even if she couldn't decide how deep her feelings were. At the very least, she had to tell him she wanted to stay, that he was important to her, how much she cared for him. She had to tell him.

The strength that she needed to do this wasn't there before last time she'd been under the opera. She was a scared little girl then, clinging to Raoul, her white knight. The power came from Raoul's betrayal. She'd depended on him to be her safe harbor, and then he was gone. Christine developed a steel core that made her strong. Only now was it revealing itself to her. Christine would have cried before, but she tearlessly walked over to the music room door. She knocked respectfully, but Erik didn't hear. He was too absorbed in his feelings and the music to hear her. She entered anyway; the door was unlocked. Rather than yell and compete with the cacophony, she stood silently and waited for the song to close. She recognized it, the final scene of _Don Juan Triumphant_. It was never preformed in public before. Unconsciously, she sang her part quietly to herself. But as the music crescendoed to the opera's conclusion, she sang louder in accordance with the piece. She lost herself in the music for an instant, and she was transported to another time and place. Swiftly, she was jerked back to the present by a sharp, jarring chord as Erik accidentally hit the keyboard as she suddenly spun around to face her.

"Leave Erik," he hissed out, his eyes glowing yellow with an almost feline intensity.

"No. I don't want to go," Christine said, "Erik, I...."


	9. Chapter 9

**Another chapter! I'm kind of unhappy that this is short, but I didn't know where else to end it. I made a poll, and I would love it if you voted in it. Thanks in advance. Enjoy! 8D**

"Erik...I love you." Christine said, finally admitting it out loud. The words felt odd on her lips.

There was a long moment of silence that unnerved her.

"Erik?" Christine had expected some form of a reaction, not this odd silence. She wished she could see what his face looked like, but it was hidden. Shifting awkwardly, she waited for some form of a response.

Finally, he answered her, "Christine, your kindness is more than I deserve. You do not have to lie like this. I thank you for your consideration, but you really should leave." His voice was composed, but there was a subtle, yet definite tremor to it.

Christine was almost indignant that he would suspect that she would lie to him, but she remembered that he didn't hear everything that had been going on in her head since she left Raoul's house. It must have been startling to Erik to hear her announce that she loved him. Maybe it was just a little too...sudden. _Am I rushing into this? Was it_

Christine didn't let her fears and doubts slip into her voice when she spoke again. "You know I wouldn't lie to you. Like I said, _I do not want to go_."

Erik's eyes were closed and he was taking deep breaths. "I do not want your pity. It would be better for both of us if you go like I asked you before," he said in a strained voice. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"I don't lie; I've changed. In fact, you can thank Raoul for that." Christine unconsciously moved her hand onto her hip and mentally prepared herself to stand her ground; it was all she could do at this point.

Erik thought about it for another moment, and he realized that Christine was much too honest to lie to anyone, even if she had good intentions. The only other conclusion he could possibly come to was that Christine loved him. Actually, he had never been so happy to be proven wrong before.

"I believe you," he said, standing up from the piano bench.

The room's atmosphere soured to an unsure awkwardness because neither of its occupants were sure what to do. Christine flushed a light pink before uneasily wrapping her arms around Erik's waist.

He had the same odd stiff reaction as when she kissed him. He responded sooner this time, returning the gesture. The feel of his cold, thin body against her own was a strange sensation for Christine. It was different, but not unpleasantly so.

Tears began to fall from Erik's eyes, pooling on his mask before dripping down onto Christine's hair.

"Erik," Christine said softly, "You don't need to cry." Whenever his tears fell, it provoked a strange protective instinct in her, but Erik's display of fragility made her feel a little bit braver. She slid her hand up his back and rested it on the back of his head. His black, wispy hair brushed her palm, and the string that held hid mask in place served as a small reminder of his face. Christine's hand shifted slightly, nudging the mask-string ever so slightly.

"You!" Erik hissed dangerously, pushing her away. Every waking moment, he was hyper-aware of his mask. He interpreted Christine's movement of his the thread as an attempt to remove his mask.

Needless to say, Erik didn't appreciate that.

The sudden change stunned Christine, who had not anticipated this surprising turn of events. As her stomach fluttered with triumph, his strong arms jolted her. She stumbled back, her arms flying out. There was an instant of sharp pain as her right hand struck the organ. Roughly, she landed on her backside.

"Mad Christine! You say you love Erik then take off his MASK?" Erik bellowed at her, his voice rising with an awesome fury that climaxed on "mask." There was nothing left for Christine to do except whimper at him and nurse her hand, biting back tears. The pain in her hand (Had she broken a bone?) mingled with the terror that gripped the frightened and bewildered girl.

"Did Christine think Erik's face had disappeared?" he thundered. His bony hands shot out and seized Christine's wrist in his tenacious grip, meeting no resistance from the petrified singer. "Christine can feel for herself!"

He dug her hands into the death's head, ripping the twisted skin until it bled. In an insane, twisted way, he enjoyed the pain that he was causing his face, the most hideous part of him, except for possibly his soul. For him, it was poetic justice, his punishment for attempting to seize a piece of light when he knew that he would always be stuck in the dark hole. He was too repugnant to hope of holding something beautiful, no matter how much he tried to deny it, in his eyes. \

Christine ached to tell him to stop, to try to comfort him, to assure him that he wasn't horrible, to love him, but she couldn't when he was like this. Any words from her would just enrage him more, and that was the opposite of what Christine aimed to do. Tears streamed down her face, but she hardly noticed them. Instead, her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to pull both of them out of this situation before it destroyed them both.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, favorited, and/or put this on their alerts list. I love you all! Enjoy!**

Christine felt as if she was drowning. There was darkness eating at the corners of her vision, and she knew she was going to faint soon. She didn't know what would befall her if she lost consciousness, so she tried to stay afloat on the stormy sea Erik's rage had tossed them into.

"Christine lied to Erik! She only wanted to see his face," he cried. His voice sounded far away, as if her ears were underwater. She still understood the words even though his voice was so indistinct. Even in her hazy state of mind, Erik's words provoked Christine. It bothered her that he would think that she would lie to get what she wanted. Moreover, it pulled her up out of the water. She felt like she had just woken up from a murky nightmare.

Gasping for air, she grabbed the float and kicked her way out of the waves. She wasn't going to drown now that she was awake.

"I am not a liar!" she said, trying to pull her hands away, "I meant what I said."

"You lie!" He tightened his grip around her wrists more. She bit her lip so that she didn't cry out. Tightly, she curled her hands into fists digging her nails into her palms. She felt fury begin to well up in her chest. It wasn't exactly clear who or what Christine was angry at, but the emotion was unmistakable.

"I did not lie! Stop sulking and accept it!" she cried, the anger flowing out through her words.

Erik relaxed his grip, and Christine wrenched her hands away from him quickly. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm down. Unsure of what to say next, she waited for Erik to speak, but he was silent. At that moment, his mind was somewhere else. What Christine supposed were his eyebrows were knitted together in thought, and he was staring at her with a curious expression. Christine blushed.

"You are confusing Christine. You puzzle me," he said softly, almost in a sad tone. Even though he was looking at Christine, his eyes had a far away look to them. Feeling an eerie sort of calm, she smiled. She thought that Erik smiled in return, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Christine opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. The atmosphere in the room had curdled to an awkward feeling, and Christine looked down, unwilling to meet Erik's eyes. The action reminded him somewhat of a disobedient child about to get punished. It occurred to him that he didn't want Christine to feel that way around him. He would have said something about it, but Christine's outburst had given him much to think about. Besides, there was also a new melody weaving its way through his head.

Seeing that neither of them had anything left to say, Erik put on his mask and turned and walked away without a word.

He sat down in an armchair for a moment, deep in thought. Christine's outburst had been the first time he could remember her not being quiet and complacent. Always, she would just take whatever came to her passively. She had been little more than a rag doll. It was the first time that she'd actively resisted something. Something had changed in Christine; she had matured. Now that he thought about it, his hindsight was unbelievably clear. If he had been paying more attention, he would have seen the little signs that pointed to the subtle change. Her posture, the expression in her eyes... If only he'd been paying attention!

When Erik walked out so suddenly, Christine stood for a moment, trying to process all that had transpired. After a moment, she decided to go to bed; it was late. She recognized Erik's "composing" mood, and knew it was best to leave him alone for a little bit. It was no surprise to her to hear music coming from the music room. The melody had been in Erik's head begged to be released, so he played the piano. Christine, who hadn't gotten into her nightgown yet, stood outside the door listening.

The beginning of the piece was soft and sweet, almost like a lullaby; she smiled listening to it. Suddenly, the music swelled and grew. This new section wasn't very different, just more...substantial. The sound was fuller, somehow. Christine thought that it was a tribute to Erik's composing ability that the song didn't completely lose its innocent, childish qualities while still making clear that the melody was powerful. Apparently, it was unfinished because the music ended suddenly. Opening the door, Christine used the pause as an opportunity to tell Erik goodnight.

"Erik?"

"Yes," he asked, turning around on the piano bench.

"Goodnight." Feeling confident, Christine walked over to Erik and embraced him lightly. He stiffened slightly like before, but he reacted more quickly than last time. Christine smiled; he was learning.

"Goodnight Christine," he said softly in her ear.

Something spurred Christine to kiss him on his masked cheek. Without another word, she straightened and walked to her bedroom.

Erik could tell from her smile and the kiss that he was completely forgiven for his outburst.


	11. Chapter 11

**There is no excuse for the lateness of this chapter. I know, I deserved to be killed by all of you. Thank you for any reviews/favoriting/alerts, ect. And I do not own Phantom of the Opera.**

Everyday, Erik or Christine crossed off the previous day on a calendar that hung on an inconspicuous corner of the drawing room. At times, that calendar was the sole connection Erik and Christine had to things outside their small, subterranean world. It was a small daily ritual, albeit an important one.

Christine dutifully went to mark the passage of the previous day one morning. It was the begining of a new month, so she turned the paged and made another little "x." She'd wanted to get it over with before she did anything else. Something about the date made her pause; she studied the calendar with a pensive expression. There was an event coming up that she hadn't thought about before. She lost herself in thoughts until a voice made her jump.

"Good morning Christine," Erik said, jerking her out of her previous mindset.

"My god, Erik, you scared me," Christine said.

His head dipped down slightly in a regretful motion. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't paying attention. I didn't hear you come in; I was thinking," Christine said, before Erik could blame himself anymore.

"About?" he couldn't help asking, though he didn't want to pry.

Christine's face flushed and she avoided his eyes. "The Masked Ball. The opera house hasn't been rebuilt and I was wondering where it would be held. And i-" She stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" a puzzled Erik asked. Christine realized how silly she'd been.

"It's nothing. Please, can we forget I mentioned this?"

Erik obviously acceded to Christine's request, but he was still wholly confused. He hadn't seen this girlish, silly behavior since she'd confessed to him that she loved Raoul. The time when he was still the Angel of Music seemed almost like another world or a dream from eternity ago. Somehow, it now seemed alien and distant.

Although Christine had acted oddly, when she sat with Erik, drinking tea after she practiced scales and arpeggios she acted just as she normally did. It seemed like she had forgotten the peculiar conversation. Erik wanted to forget, too, but he seemed unable to. What had made her stop in midsentence so suddenly? He had to know what she'd been thinking about!

"The Masked Ball is next week," Christine said, breaking a lull in the conversation.

"I know," Erik said tersely. He had no intention of going, but he wondered why Christine brought it up again. What could it possibly have to do with anything?

Christine cocked her head slightly at Erik's apparent indifference. "Do you want to go? No one would stare at you. Please?" She bit her lip, hoping she didn't offend him with the "staring" comment.

"The de Chagny boy will be there," he pointed out frostily, unsure why he mentioned Raoul. It was a legitamate concern, however.

Christine was irked by Erik's quiet, stony indifference to her proposal. "I have no problems seeing him." She was quite sure of that. "My concern is you. If you don't want to go, that's fine."

"I do want to go," he assured her emphatically.

"Erik, is something wrong?" Christine looked at him seriously, disquieted.

"No...I can't dance, Christine. How can I go to a ball, and not dance?" He looked up at her with pleading eyes, and in that moment she saw it all. He so desperately wanted to be everything for Christine; he didn't want to fail her in any way. He loved her with such a sad, sweet devotion she didn't know whether to cry, laugh, or embrace him. It came to her in a staggering flood.

"Erik," she almost laughed, "I'll teach you. That's no reason not to do something. You can trust me." The open expression in her wide blue eyes nearly killed him. It was overwhelming, her complete interest, her concern. To Erik, the most frightening thing was that he _did_ trust her implicitly. Never in his life had Erik trusted anyone the way he knew he could depend on the blond girl sitting across from him, her eyes bright with interest_. Love is built on trust_. Wherever Christine wanted to go, he would follow, dancing ability or not. It was a beautiful prospect.

There was a moment of silence; Erik was unsure of what to say.

"Erik?" Christine asked.

"I'm sorry. I just... I would love to attend the Masked Ball with you, dear," he said distractedly, getting up. There was a song he just had to get on paper all of a sudden.

Taking out his violin, Erik began to compose a violin solo, and Christine sat in a corner to listen. Erik's song was admittedly beautiful. It seemed to throw itself at the listener in hopes of being accepted and favored, which wasn't difficult. It was almost like a little puppy trying so hard to please a doting master. After Erik added the finishing touches and played it through one last time, Christine asked if the piece had a title.

"No, not yet," he answered with brows furrowed under his mask, "Make sure that you finish your tea, dear, I don't want you to get hoarse."

Knowing that Erik wouldn't allow her to speak for a year if her voice was hoarse, Christine did as she was told before her tea got cold.

"Erik?" she called when she finished, "Would you like a dance lesson now?"

"Yes."

Christine showed Erik how to waltz; he picked it up easily. She liked the feeling of being in his arms and the way their bodies moved together, and there was something special in moving with him to music. Erik's natural grace and Christine's ballet background made them move easily to the "1-2-3"'s that Christine counted out.

"There, you've got it," she told him, "I knew this would be easy." It was almost effortless. "But the important problem at hand is costumes. I won't let you be Red Death again." An impish smile played on her lips.

"We shall have to see about that." The smile blossomed into a grin. Something about today felt right to Christine, like all of the pieces of her life we finally falling together or the musicians in an orchestra finally played a song in tune. It was harmonious, pleasant. Maybe this was where she was meant to end up after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**I love all reviewers and I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. On with the show!**

With the masquerade coming up in about a week, Christine was completely at a loss in regard to costumes. There wasn't enough time to completely start from scratch, so she had to make due with what she had. Making the costumes was going to stretch her creativity to its limit. Erik also had no idea what to go as; he didn't care. The boredom that had been Christine's steady companion for most of her time in the house on the lake and her excitement over the ball made Christine obsess over the costumes more than was was really due.

While she was daydreaming and dusting, the epiphany finally came to her. Nothing had inspired it; it was almost as if it had been looking for her rather than the other way around. She would go as the Phantom of the Opera! It would be simple, she would borrow Erik's clothes and mask for the evening. The more that she thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. All that was left would be Erik's costume. There was no way in the world that Christine would allow him out of the house with the Red Death costume, and there were too many bad memories that it brought to mind. Somewhere, she knew that there was an idea that would be just as perfect as her opera ghost attire. The problem was that she didn't know what it was, except at a deeply buried, subconscious level. It was like remembering a dream or running after a smell. Christine eventually knew that she had to make concessions if she wanted to go at all. There was a ticking clock inside her that was counting down the time with the same girlish, ecstatic joy she'd displayed earlier.

After dyeing Red Death purple and stitching an intricate crown, a beaming Christine presented Erik with a skeleton king costume.

"Thank you," he replied tersely, smiling under his mask. Christine desperately wanted to know what his expression looked like, but she did not want to ask Erik to take his mask off.

"Do you like it?" she asked, even though she knew what the answer would be.

"Of course." Almost like a fond parent, he would treasure anything she made.

The night of the masquerade, the Phantom of the Opera and the King of Death merrily made their way down Rue Scribe hand in hand. Erik was uncomfortable walking down the street like anyone else, and Christine could tell from the way he squeezed her hand a little. Whenever she caught his eye, she made it a point to smile, which wasn't difficult. Even so, Erik couldn't deny that it felt good to look like everyone else. He felt confident; it was intoxicating. That night was almost exactly how he felt life would be if he looked normal, but the only difference was that he was surrounded by masks rather than faces. The stars, the fresh air, the lights in the buildings, they were all so perfect! It was enough to make both of them giddy. She'd only been living with Erik for a few weeks, but Christine remembered all that she'd missed during that time. Her memories were only pale shadows of the real things.

It only took the pair a few minutes to walk to the building where the masked ball was to be held in stead of the opera house. It was easily identified by all of the colorful, costumed people standing around it. Christine rushed up the steps, unable to contain her joy.

"Erik, finally!" she said, conveying her elation in those two words. Christine had always been a child at heart, and that side of her was coming out. Still, Erik couldn't help but feel the current of electricity the masquerade seemed to generate and let himself be pulled along by it.

Once inside, Christine eagerly searched the crowd for people she knew, especially Meg or Madame Giry. Unable to tell because of all the masks, Christine decided to look later. At the moment, she would dance with Erik.

The serious, focused way that he approached dancing made her laugh. He didn't want to do anything wrong and ruin the rapture that possess him. It was easy for Christine moving to the music, natural. During the oddly quiet idyll that separated the songs the small chamber ochestra played a cry pierced the room

"Christine!"

Automatically, Christine turned her head in the direction of the catcall. It was Meg coming towards her. She broke out of Erik's arms and moved toward her friend. At the moment, she didn't consider one important thing; Meg had seen her dancing with Erik. Christine was too busy hugging her friend. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Meg." Looking up, she saw a figure that was clearly Madame Giry behind Meg. The older woman gave her a smile as if to say, "It's good to see you. I'm sorry my daughter is so energetic this evening. Let me go talk to Erik."

"How is you cousin's house?" Christine asked.

"Terrible." Meg pulled a face. "Christine," she said, changing the subject, "Who was that man you were just dancing with? I've never seen him before."

Unsure how to respond, Christine bit her lip and avoided Meg's innocent gaze. She decided the truth would be best, even if it made Erik mad after a moment of deliberation. Eventually, the truth would come out anyway. She took a deep breath and launched into a explanation.


	13. Chapter 13

**I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. Sorry to disappoint you. I love all reviewers, ect. You are amazing. **

The words were slow and measured at first, but soon tumbled out quickly in a babbling flood. "Meg...his name is Erik. He's, well, he's the Phantom of the Opera. Your mother rescued him from a gypsy fair when he was young. He's ugly, Meg, really ugly. That's why he wears a mask. Remember when I said the Angel of Music spoke to me? That was really him all along. I left him after every thing that happened after _Don Juan Triumphant_, but Raoul's family made me leave... Then Erik found me and I've been living with him since...Meg, I love Erik. Really, I do," she said. Christine's blue eyes were wide and imploring. _Meg please, please don't be angry with me. _There was a brief moment of silence that seemed to stretch like an eternity to her as Meg tried to process the rush of information as quickly as possible. "Meg, I..." she continued to break the silence. _She's mad, isn't she? _

"Can I meet him?" Meg cut Christine off a little rudely.

"What?"

"If you love this Erik so much, then I want to meet him," Meg repeated in a slightly annoyed tone, as if Christine was stupid.

With a sinking feeling, she realized the magnitude of all that she had revealed to Meg. The other girl was like her sister, but she had affected almost everyone she was close to with that speech. She had qualms about inciting Erik's anger before she spoke, but only now she realized that the life she had built was in jeopardy. Although Christine loved Meg dearly, she had to admit that Meg had no capacity to keep secrets.

"Well, fine then..."

Meanwhile, Erik was deep in conversation with Madame Giry, apologizing for his behavior last time they had spoken, finding out what she had been doing, and watching Christine talk to Meg out of the corner of his eye.

"As I said before, I was rude, and I am sorry. I never should have thrown you out of my house like that," Erik said sincerely.

"I accept your apology," Madame Giry replied. She knew there was no use holding a grudge with Erik. He often said things in anger that he didn't mean; it was just part of his personality.

Unfortunately, Raoul had caught sight of Christine at the same time and began crossing the floor to talk to her.

"Excuse me," said a smooth voice behind Christine. The owner of the voice made Meg's eyes widen, and Christine's throat tighten. _She knew that voice! _

"Raoul," she said, turning around, unsmiling. The slightly horrified expression on her face unnerved the young vicompte, who had come to the party dressed as a knight, but, nonetheless, he continued.

"Miss Giry, I would much appreciate it if I could talk to Christine alone if you don't mind," he said, gifting her with a dazzling smile.

"Of course," Meg replied uncertain what to do in light of the information Christine had shared. After what had passed between Raoul and her friend, she was unsure whether to leave or stay with her. Shooting a quizzical look at Christine, she disappeared into the colorful crowd.

"Christine, I am very sorry for turning you out like that. I regret listening to my family; they were wrong. If you can ever forgive me... Please, I still want to marry you." Raoul said, still disquieted by the expression on Christine's face. He had mentally prepared himself for either happiness or anger (quite possibly a mix of both) on her part, but not this pitying, sympathetic expression. It was almost as if she felt she was at fault, not him. There was silence, and for a moment, Christine had the odd sensation that the moment after she finished her speech about Erik to Meg was reversed. Searching for words, she found none, and unable to bear his innocent, pleading eyes Christine turned and ran away. Later, she regretted it, but the sight of him so hopeful and repentant and her inability to help him were too much for her. She couldn't face him.

The worst thing of all was that he didn't even try to follow her.

Some part of Raoul knew that Christine was gone; it was a realization that aged him. He had lost her a long time ago. With weary resignation, he turned around and went to find Philippe, who was dancing with one of the ballet girls from the opera, Sorelli. At least it seemed one attempted reconciliation was a success, he thought only a little bitterly.

Blindly, Christine pushed her way through the crowd in search of Erik. She had a strange, instinctive need to see him all of a sudden. Maybe he would help get the encounter with Raoul out of her mind. The only other time she'd felt so guilty was when she'd left Erik with Raoul. It was a poetic irony she would have enjoyed in other circumstances.

Erik was standing alone in an alcove, when an agitated black figure with a white mask quickly approached him. She hadn't said anything, but the consternation on the visible half of Christine's face was worrying. Hadn't she just been giddy and excited? What had happened? He took a step closer to her.

"My dear, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"Raoul," Christine managed to choke out, and it sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Seeing that he had upset Christine so, Erik was obviously angry, and hardly heard what Christine said next. It was something about telling Meg something... It seemed unimportant. Hands dangerously clenching around the folds of his cloak, Erik could only really process that Raoul had upset Christine again, and ruined the evening. Watching Erik's body language, Christine realized that she would have to keep him away from everyone at this point, especially Raoul. In addition, there was no way she could introduce Erik to Meg in this state. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she saw Meg walking over to her. Oh _no_.


	14. Chapter 14

**I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_. Thank you for all the kind things you've said; they're basically the reason this story has gotten to fourteen chapters.**

Christine hunted frantically for a way to get Erik out of Meg's way. It would be impossible for him to interact with anyone until he calmed down, so all she needed was an empty room she could use for a few minutes. There were too many vibrant, whirling people in the way; she couldn't get a good view. Scanning the vicinity hurriedly, the closest thing she could find was the coat closet near the entrance. Meg was mush closer now, so she would have to make due.

"Come here," she muttered while practically dragging Erik into the tiny room. She let out a deep breath and looked around at the interior of the closet. It was silent except for the sounds of her and Erik's soft breathing, and there was a light bulb that illuminated the space, she noted gratefully. Being shoved into a tiny, dark space wouldn't help any enraged person calm themselves. Christine leaned back slightly and felt fur from one of the coats prickle the back of her neck. The mostly dark colors of the coats, mostly blacks and browns, contrasted sharply with the dizzying colors of the masquerade, but the soft light from the bulb gave them a warm look. Christine reminded herself that Erik was the priority; he was the reason she was in there.

"Erik?" she asked carefully, prepared for the worst.

"What did he do?" he answered in a strained voice. All of her panic forgotten, the events from five minutes earlier rushed back to the forefront of Christine's mind. She'd just been completely horrid to Raoul. _But he was mean, too_, a small, childish voice reminded her. _That doesn't give me any excuse to act that way in return, does it?_

"He said he was sorry and...asked me to marry him," she replied hesitantly, emotion coloring her voice, "Really, he was perfectly polite..." It probably wasn't the most effective way to help Erik settle down, but she figured it was better than lying to him.

"And what did you do?" he asked in the same tight, tense tone. Shame made Christine look down and squirm uncomfortably.

She replied, "I ran away, and found you. I couldn't face him. He just looked so..." Biting her tongue, she searched for the right word. "Sincere," she finished, picturing the look on Raoul's face while she spoke.

Didn't he know that she had changed utterly since last time she'd seen him? He was free to find some pretty, sweet girl full of light to love who wasn't connected to the Phantom of the Opera. Didn't he understand that their paths weren't meant to cross again? If only he had realized it when they met at the opera house again; the two of them now lived in different worlds. They weren't children in the house by the sea anymore!

"I'm sorry," Erik responded, unsure of what else to say. He understood how Christine felt, but he was unsure how to express it.

"Can we go back now? Meg wanted to meet you, and-" Christine said anxiously. She cut off abruptly when she realized that Erik didn't know that she'd told Meg everything. She took a deep breath and began again. "I told Meg about you because she saw me dancing with you, and she wanted to meet you. When I came to talk to you after I saw Raoul, she started walking over and I pushed you in here because you were so angry. Will you talk to her?"

"Of course," Erik answered. He was much more relaxed now and eager to get out of the closet. Being surrounded by coats was not his idea of a good time. "Shall we?"

Christine took his arm, smiling, and the pair exited the closet. It wasn't long until Meg came directly up to them, and she didn't beat around the bush at all.

"What were you _doing_ in there?" she asked, eyes wide. However, her features weren't accusing, just curious as to why Christine ducked into the closet suddenly and dragged Erik with her.

"We were just talking," Christine answered with an _I'll give you all the details later_ look, "Meg, may I introduce you to Erik? Erik, this is my friend Miss Meg Giry."

"Nice to meet you," Erik and Meg both automatically said politely. Unsure of what to say next, there was an awkward pause as both assessed the other. Meg was fascinated by the beauty of Erik's voice; no wonder Christine had mistaken him for an angel! A beaming Christine was glad that there were no more secrets between her and Meg.

"Christine has told me a lot about you," Erik, surprisingly, broke the silence; usually he was diffident in these situations. He noticed how much Meg looked like her mother. They had the same warm brown eyes, and Meg's hair was the yellow blond color her mother's had once been.

Meg replied, "She's hardly told me anything about you."

"I'm sorry," Christine retorted, "but I'm not the one who can't be trusted to keep a secret for five minutes!"

Meg laughed, knowing the accusation was completely true. "You know I'll keep this one," she said.

Christine gave her friend a hug on impulse. "I've missed you so much!" she exclaimed.

Madame Giry noticed Christine, Meg, and Erik standing together, talking, and came to investigate. Meg didn't know about her or Christine's involvement with Erik...

"Meg," she said, jumping into the conversation, "when did you come over here? And who is this?" She nodded at Erik.

Meg answered, "You don't have to lie to me, mother. Christine introduced me to Erik." The ballet mistress shot a look at Christine, who knew they would be having a private conversation soon, but for now they stayed with Meg and Erik, the other half of their odd little family.


	15. Chapter 15

**There are probably a million excuses I could give to you for neglecting this story for so long, but I won't bore you with them. I'm sorry. On the bright side, today is ALW's musical of Phantom of the Opera's birthday! I don't own Phantom in case you were wondering. Enjoy!**

The four of them stood in the cold night air, trying to delay the inevitable moment when they would have to say goodbye. There was still a lot that they wanted to say to each other, and the silent questions hung in the air unanswered. Some of the questions were for private moments that didn't seem likely to come at this point. The crowd around them had thinned quickly; people weren't apt to linger outside very long.

Meg began to cough, and the sound cut through the air sharply. The other three turned to her with concern. Meg's coughs only multiplied and echoed around them unceasingly and seemingly everywhere. There was really nothing they could do until the coughing fit let up. Meg willed the spasm to stop; she could barely catch her breath between each cough. She managed to take a handkerchief from Christine to cough into, and she noted gratefully that there was nothing red on it.

Her coughing slowed down in intensity after another minute, and then finally stopped. She was breathing a little hard, and her face was flushed. Her mind drifted back to her cousins' house because she remembered that two of them were sick.

"I'm fine," she said with a weak smile. It was obvious from the expressions on the three faces in front of her that none of them believed her.

"She should lie down," Erik said, "I don't think she should travel for now."

"I'm fine!" Meg protested again. It bothered her that he spoke as if she wasn't there.

"Where could she go to lie down?" Madame Giry asked, "We should get back to Jacques and Marie's house."

After a moment of thought, Erik replied, "She could come back with us. I have medicine under the opera, and she shouldn't go anywhere."

There was a note of command in his voice that none of them protested or questioned. It was a tone that he used during a lesson with Christine or in a discussion about the mask.

"Thank you," Madame Giry said finally with a curt nod.

The three of them walked around the opera in silence. Meg's coughing fit had quieted them all for the moment. Even when they were inside and walking through a dark passage, none of them broke the silence. Meg felt a little fearful in the dark, but she didn't voice her thoughts aloud.

It wasn't until they were in the house on the lake that the silence was broken. Meg was still slightly amazed to find herself where she was, and Christine was surprised at how _proud_ she was that Meg was astonished. It was a strange feeling for her to be so comfortable in a place where Meg was a stranger.

Before they went to bed, Christine gave Meg a little tour. When Meg took in the sight of the coffin and the notes of the _Dies Irae _on the wall in Erik's room, she realized with a shudder that Christine hadn't really been stretching the truth when she said that Erik was crazy. Just who was he? There was a lot to this masked man that she didn't know, but she now found herself in his house.

The Girys borrowed nightgowns from Christine for the night, and went to bed quickly. Christine wanted to talk to Erik alone before she went to sleep when they were alone. A lot had happened that night.

"Will Meg get well?" she asked anxiously. Because some of her first memories were of her father getting sick and dying, she always worried when someone close to her was ill.

"Yes, but she'll get worse before she gets better, I'm afraid," Erik replied softly. He had been very quiet since he suggested that the Girys come home with them, and Christine recognized the mood.

"How are _you_?" she asked in the same serious tone. She hopped that he wasn't actually mad at her for telling Meg about him.

"I am fine," he replied, but there was something in his voice that wasn't as reassuring. Christine thought that he would tell her if he was mad, so there was probably something else going through his head. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said.

When Christine got up the next morning, part of her thought that all of the events of the night before were a dream. However, she saw Erik's cloak draped on the back of a chair, and she knew it was not the case. It was strange for her to think that someone other than Erik was in the house with them at that moment.

"Where's Erik?" Meg asked when Christine made her way into the kitchen to eat breakfast. Madame Giry was sitting at the table, too.

"Probably composing," Christine answered. She was used to his habits by now, but she knew that Meg wasn't. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Meg answered automatically. Christine knew Meg was lying. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her forehead was shiny with a thin layer of sweat. She had a fever since some time in the middle of the night. When they finished eating, Meg went back to bed only after a few feeble protests.

Christine spent the rest of the morning sitting at Meg's bedside, and Meg told her that they needed to talk.

"Tell me about Erik," she said.

"You met him. What do you want to know?" Christine asked. Meg gave her a look she was familiar with, the _I-honestly-don't know-why-I-keep-you-around_ look.

"You know what I mean," Meg said.

"There isn't much to tell," Christine innocently proclaimed.

"Are you and Erik..." Meg trailed off suggestively.

"No!" Christine exclaimed.

"Do you want to?" Meg asked playfully, but she wanted to know what Christine's answer would be.

"I...um...maybe," Christine stammered. She blushed; she knew she was cornered. "Margaret Giry!" She took a lighthearted swipe at Meg.

Meg dodged it, and suddenly looked up when she saw someone standing in the doorway. Christine knew who it was when the person spoke, and she blushed instantly. How much of the conversation did they hear?

**Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter up a lot sooner, and please review! Also, I am looking for a beta, so if anyone wants to beta this story, please PM me or say so in a review.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I do not own **_**Phantom of the Opera**_**, sorry if that disappoints you.**

"Hitting Miss Giry won't help her get any better," said a voice from the doorway. Christine knew before she turned around that it was Erik. Meg was laughing and coughing so much that she forgot to scowl at being called "Miss" instead of her first name.

"How much of that conversation did you hear?" Christine asked in a strangled voice.

"None," Erik replied, "except I heard you shout." Christine sensed the smile under the mask, but she supposed that he could be lying all the same. There was an awkward pause before Erik walked over to the bed to give Meg more medicine. She drank it with a scowl.

"I'm sorry it's bitter," he said. He turned to Christine. "Would you like a lesson now?"

"Yes," she replied. When she stood up to leave, Meg's smile dimmed a little bit.

Erik's bemused air vanished entirely once he sat at the piano, but it was a change that Christine anticipated. She felt better now that she had singing to concentrate on, and she hoped that the incident could be forgotten easily. When she was done, she sat on the piano bench with Erik and drank a cup of tea to soothe her throat.

"What you talking about earlier?" he asked innocently. It was exactly what she was afraid of.

"None of you business," she replied a little too harshly. "Sorry. How are you feeling?" She tried to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"I'm fine," he answered shortly.

"Everything seems a lot more crowded now," she offered, trying to get him to talk to her. He had to be feeling something now that Meg and Madame Giry were living with them. There were too many sudden changes for him to be unaffected.

"I guess so," he said without really answering her. His short answers were frustrating her, but she didn't let her irritation get the best of her. If he didn't want to talk, she wouldn't force him, so she finished the last of her tea quickly.

For the next few days, Erik, Christine, and Madame Giry tried to avoid getting in each other's way. Meg was in bed for most of the time, so she didn't see as many of Erik's eccentric habits as the others did. Erik's reluctance to eat, habits of playing his organ early in the morning, and long stretches of solitude were commonplace to Christine, and it was strange to see someone else find them so odd. Her world hadn't extended very far past the boundary of the lake for weeks, and it was a reminder to her just how peculiar her entire arrangement with Erik actually was. There was something completely unfamiliar about getting warning glances from Madame Giry when she was with Erik.

Christine went into Meg's room one morning when she found something frightening; Meg had taken a turn for the worse. Her already pale skin had a greenish hue to it, her face was pinched in a pained expression, and she was suddenly more covered with sweat than she had been before. She was still asleep, so Christine quietly crept in and laid her head on her friend's forehead. Meg was burning hot, even though her fever had been relatively mild the night before. Her breathing was also labored, and it seemed to Christine that each breath was an effort.

She went to get Erik or Madame Giry, and she found Erik in the hall.

"Erik! Something's wrong with Meg!" she said in a soft, but distressed tone.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know, but she looks awful."

He went to see Meg and he mixed some medicines together with an air of severe determination that Christine had only seen in him a few times. He spent a good deal of his time in the sickroom after that. He stood silently just inside the door. To Christine, he looked like a black and white statue holding a vigil over Meg. Madame Giry tried to busy herself with menial tasks around the house; it seemed she was avoiding Meg's bedside somewhat. Christine sat right next to Meg, holding her hand and talking to her softly just to fill the enormous silence. The atmosphere had suddenly become unbearably thick and tense, and Christine felt strangely isolated. She knew that Erik's intentions were to cure Meg, and Madame Giry was just worried about Meg. However, she couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that they were all cut off from each other even though they were all living under the same roof. Christine didn't know if she could take all of the strain for much longer.

Something for her had to give, and she began to have nightmares. It had taken her a while to get to sleep; she had been worrying not only about Meg, but she was still fretting over the implications of Meg's question from the day that Erik walked in on their conversation. It should have been easy to answer, but Christine wasn't even sure what the question meant. There was something about it that frustrated her. Somehow, sleep eventually claimed her weary mind.

Christine found herself a lonely, sad little girl sitting by herself on a gray cliff above the sea at Perros. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and she looked down at the water despondently

"Where's Daddy? What happened to Daddy? Where did Daddy go?" she asked aloud to the air. Her voice rose with each question, but the only response was the rhythmic crashing of the waves down below her. Because no voice answered her, her cries grew more and more frenzied. Terror began to creep up on her until she was possessed by the fear of being alone. When she felt that she could stand the fright no longer, a voice finally spoke to her. It sounded like it came from the sea and she recognized it as her father's voice.

"When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you," the voice boomed.

"Daddy?" she called.

The voice changed; it sounded like Meg.

"Do you want to?" it asked again and again. "Do you want to? Do you want to?"

Her hopes dashed, Christine buried her face in her hands and cried. After some time, it was unclear how long, Christine heard another voice repeating her name over and over again, Raoul's voice. She looked up through teary eyes, but she saw no one. The voice shifted and changed until it was Erik's, and she heard it distinctly behind her. She saw a little boy behind her-Raoul. He was speaking in Erik's voice, and Christine ran over to him. As she approached, Raoul's face distorted until it looked exactly like Erik's. Christine screamed. Everything went black around her, and she was falling, falling through the darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**I do not own_ The Phantom of the Opera_. I hope you figured that out by now. By the way, I'm still looking for a beta.**

The first thing that Christine saw when she woke up was a white mask, and the sight of it scared her almost as much as her entire nightmare did. The darkness made the mask look like it was floating in the air, but she could see Erik's eyes clearly. They stared at each other for a long moment as if they were wondering how they got there.

"Christine?" Erik finally asked tentatively, "Are you alright?"

"I had a nightmare," she said slowly, almost as if she didn't believe it herself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Erik said in a tone one would use with a small child.

Christine nodded furiously and launched into an explanation of her dream, and Erik just listened silently. "Were you scared because you saw my face?" he asked so gently that it was heart-breaking.

"A little," Christine said truthfully.

It probably wasn't the best thing to say, but she really wasn't in a state of mind for tact. Relating the dream to Erik brought the memory of her father to the front of her mind, and she was suddenly assaulted by a sharp burst of pain at his memory. It hadn't been this bad in years, and she was unsure why she missed her father so much at that moment. Tears began to fall from her eyes unchecked, and she sat up in bed.

Christine instinctively put her arms out like she did as a little girl when she had nightmares. Erik leaned over and put his arms around her, unsure of what to do, and Christine buried her face in his shoulder. He stood absolutely still and let her cry, unsure of what else to do.

After a minute or so, Christine steeled herself enough to pull away from Erik, and she eyed the wet spot she made on his shirt because she was unable to meet his eyes. As her stabbing grief dissipated, it was replaced by an awkward self-awareness. Erik was in her room while she was sleeping. A blush colored her face, and she could tell that Erik was aware that a line had been crossed, too. The strange thing was that she was almost…_glad_ that he was there. Her conflicting emotions just made her feel even worse.

Erik muttered, "Goodnight," before he left the room quickly.

Madame Giry saw him walk out of Christine's room, and her eyes narrowed at him.

"What happened?" she asked quickly, looking at the spot on his shirt suspiciously.

"Christine had a nightmare, that's all," Erik explained. Madame Giry's expression didn't change.

"You should have called me," she said.

"I know." He looked at the floor like a misbehaving child.

"I've been meaning to talk to you for some time, Erik." Her softer tone made him look up, and he saw that her face was softer now.

"About what?"

"Christine." He didn't respond; he expected something like this for a while now. When he didn't answer, she continued, "She still misses her Vicompte, even if she doesn't show it. Be careful with her Erik."

"I know," he said.

"Do you? She usually puts on a smile when she's unhappy; you know her. Don't push her."

"I wasn't!" he replied, a little too sharply.

"I can't be sure of that, but watch your words around her. If you don't, you'll have to answer to me. Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight," he said back, but she had already turned around and began to walk away.

Erik stood on the spot for a while, thinking. There was a lot in that conversation that he wanted to mull over, and he wasn't sure how to feel about everything that Madame Giry said. He wanted to be angry at her, but at the same time, he just felt sad and strangely empty. There was no way that he could go to bed now, so he began to pace the hallway. After a while, he decided that he needed space; he wanted to go up to the roof. The house on the lake was getting too crowded, and just needed room to breathe for the rest of the night.

Christine was listening to Erik's footsteps outside her door. They were getting softer and louder in a slow rhythm, and she knew that he was pacing. She didn't want to go back to sleep after the dream that she had, so she just listened to Erik walk and let her mind wander. While she lay still, she wondered why he was pacing. Before he started, she heard voices just outside her door. He probably had some conversation with Madame Giry, but she didn't know what either one of them could say to make him pace like that.

Christine counted three lengths of the hallway before she noticed a change in Erik's footfalls. They were getting harder and quicker; they sounded almost agitated, like Erik was brooding. She poked her head out her door to see what was wrong.

"Erik?" she asked.

Her voice pulled him from his reverie, and stopped him before he went up to the roof.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Are you alright?" she asked, echoing what he said to her earlier.

"You should be in bed," he responded, avoiding her question.

"So should you," she retorted.

"I suppose so."

"Why were you pacing?"

"I was couldn't sleep," he lied. He didn't want to discuss his conversation with Madame Giry with Christine.

"I can't either, not after the nightmare."

There was a silence, and neither one met the other's eyes for the moment. Erik was eager to get up to the roof, and every moment spent in the conversation with Christine delayed him. He wanted to go, but he didn't see a way to politely end the conversation without being rude to Christine. After another moment of thought, he made a compromise with himself.

"I was going to take a walk," he said, "Do you want to come with me?"

"Yes...wait for me and I'll change. It's better than staying awake all night."

While he waited for Christine, Erik couldn't help but think of what Madame Giry said to him. Was he pushing her?

When Christine finished changing, she looped her arm through Erik's and smiled at him. There was something in the smile that told Erik that Madame Giry was wrong; Christine was probably the one who was pushing him more than anything.


	18. Chapter 18

**I've been on a roll with updating on time! I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. Erik likes to be his own person.**

There was something surreal about sitting on the edge of the roof with the stage and all of Paris spread out like a lighted web below them. Erik and Christine were sitting on the edge of where the roof was repaired, with their feet hanging over the edge. It was a clear night, and all the stars were out. Christine couldn't help but think that sitting there with Erik was better than the last time she'd been up here. Everything seemed so much more peaceful.

"We couldn't have asked for a better night to come up here," Christine said after a minute or so of silence.

She was right; the air was warm, and the stars were out. The full moon lighted the roof for them. Spring was coming, and they could feel it in the warmer night air.

"You're right," Erik said quietly. Christine leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder. There was a short pause that both of them were reluctant to fill. "Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering…What are you going to do when the opera house is rebuilt?" Erik asked. The question had pestered him when he noticed how far along the repairs were when they came up to the roof. He had been afraid to ask it before, but something about the idyllic night and having Christine sitting next to him changed his mind.

"I don't know," she admitted. It seemed far off to her, and she didn't know why he was asking now. "I guess I'll sing again, and it'll be like before the fire."

"Things have changed since the fire," Erik pointed out. Christine was engaged to the Vicompte before the fire, and he didn't want things to go back to that.

"I know _that_." She nudged him with her head a little.

"Good." He nudged her back, so she elbowed him. They started pushing each other for a while, until Erik said that they were too close to the edge.

"Fine," Christine said, moving all the way back to the door and sitting down in front of it, "We can continue over here."

Erik rolled his eyes and dutifully sat down on his knees next to her. He looked expectantly at her, waiting for the next nudge.

"You're it!" she said, touching his arm and dashing away from him towards the statue of Apollo.

He cocked his head and blinked at her, unsure of what she was doing.

"What was that?" he asked, confused by her behavior.

"Tag? You don't know what tag is?" she asked slowly, walking back over to him.

"No."

"Really?"

"I really don't know what 'tag' is, Christine."

"You never would have played it, would you?" she said sadly, "It's a children's game. You're 'it,' so you're supposed to chase me and tag me so that I'm it. Then I chase you again."

"And when does it end?"

"It doesn't."

"Oh."

"You really don't know," she said with wonder, "Almost everyone grows up playing it."

"I never had playmates."

"I'm sorry, Erik."

There was a glint in his eyes when they met hers. "You're it!" He raced away from her before she could process what she did.

"That's not fair!" Christine cried, sprinting towards him.

"All's fair in love and war," Erik replied smoothly.

"Which one's this?"

He pretended to think about it for a moment, and she took the opportunity to tag him.

When the first stars began to fade, they made their way back to the lake breathlessly, and Christine was still it. Their radiant mood dimmed a little bit when they reached the other side of the lake because neither one of them had thought of Meg since they were up on the roof. They felt almost guilty about having fun while she was in bed asleep. Christine told herself that Meg was probably sleeping anyway, and Meg would most likely join in their game of tag if she were there, anyway. She could almost hear Madame Giry reproving them for running around like lunatics. When they were inside, Christine and Erik went to see if Meg was awake.

"Where were you?" she asked when she saw them come in.

"The roof," Christine answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Mother was worried. She thought Erik kidnapped you or something," Meg said.

"He did. It was horrible. I had to teach him to play tag so that he would let me go," Christine answered.

Meg looked at her for a moment with a confused expression. She knew so little about Erik that she supposed it could have been true. Her naïve expression made them both laugh, and the sound hadn't been heard in that room before.

"He really didn't know how to play tag, though," Christine said thoughtfully.

Madame Giry walked into the room at that moment.

"Where were you?" she asked indignantly.

"We were on the roof," Erik explained,"Christine and I-"

Madame Giry interrupted him, "I was so worried! I didn't know where you were."

"Meg told us you thought I kidnapped Christine," Erik said with disdain.

"What else did to expect me to think? You are…" She trailed off, trying to find the right word.

"A murderer?" he supplied.

"Stop it!" Christine interjected sharply, "We were on the roof, that's all. We're not children anymore, for heaven's sake."

"I know, but it's easy to forget sometimes," Madame Giry said, "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Erik said, as warmly as he could manage.

"Aren't I due for more medicine?" Meg asked, changing the subject quickly.

"You're right," Erik said. He left to go get the medicine, and Madame Giry also exited, muttering something about breakfast. Christine was left alone with Meg, so she sat next to the bed.

"Tag!" Meg said, reaching weakly for Christine's hand.

"I was it last," Christine said, "That makes you it."

"Oh well," Meg said, shrugging cheerfully.

Christine didn't reply because Erik came back into the room with more medicine. He handed it to Meg, and Meg made sure that her hand touched his when she took it from him.

"Tag!"


	19. Chapter 19

Christine could tell that Meg was getting better because Meg had begun to bombard her with questions about Erik that were punctuated by coughs, and the coughs were getting less frequent.

"What does his face look like?" was the question she asked the most frequently. Meg's new idée fixe was beginning to worry Christine.

"He looks ugly, which is why he wears the mask. You know that," Christine usually replied impatiently.

"You alwayssay that. I want to see what he looks like," Meg replied with an eye roll.

"Don't tell _him_ that."

Christine had almost forgotten the ballerinas' fascination with the Opera Ghost, and Meg was living under the roof of the Phantom himself. It was obvious that Meg would want to know if the stories that they told were true, but Christine couldn't think of a way that would happen without hurting Erik. She made Meg promise her not to mention the mask around Erik, but she doubted that it would remain very effective.

"Erik, what would you do if I took your mask off right now?" Christine asked innocently when they were alone on the roof one day. She wasn't sure how exactly to broach the topic without getting him angry, and she still wasn't comfortable with bringing Meg into the conversation.

"Are you going to?" he asked warily, his eyes narrowing into slits and his body tensing like a coiled spring.

"Maybe," Christine answered, "Will you answer my question?"

"You just warned me, so I don't think I'd do anything," he said thoughtfully, relaxing a little, "But please do not take off my mask."

"I won't. I promise. I just…Meg wants to see your face, you know. She asks about it all the time, so I wanted to make sure you knew," Christine said in a casual tone, hoping that he would react more calmly if she said it that way.

She saw his hands clench into fists, but his voice betrayed no emotion. "She should know better. Her mother should have warned her."

"I told her to keep her nose out of it, but she's stubborn and bored. Please don't be mad at her. I just thought you should know."

"Thank you," he said, slowly unfurling his hands.

Christine tried to smile, but it felt fake. She knew that this wouldn't be the end of the mask issue.

When they were back in the house on the lake, Christine decided to ask Madame Giry what to do. She was Meg's mother, and she knew Erik well, so Christine hoped that she could help.

"Don't you think that I noticed it?" Madame Giry replied once Christine told her about the problems surrounding the mask.

"Actually, no," Christine said, "I didn't think of that."

"Meg's curiosity will fade once she realizes that it will not get anything. That's what usually happens when she doesn't get her way," the older woman said with a sagacious air.

"Are you sure?" Christine asked doubtfully. It didn't seem like everything would be solved that easily.

"I'm her mother," Madame Giry said, "I know her well."

**I do now own The Phantom of the Opera, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. You guys are amazing!**

Christine didn't feel very certain that everything would happen like Madame Giry said it would, and she ended up feeling worse about the whole matter. She wanted to sing to distract herself, so she asked Erik if he would accompany her on the organ. They didn't bother to close the door, and Madame Giry stood outside listening to them.

"That last note is a b flat. Watch your key signature dear," she heard Erik say in between verses.

There was something about Erik's tone, firm, yet affectionate, that made the older Giry stop and think about it for a second time. She couldn't find the right word to describe the sentiment that it kindled in her for a while. The next time that she heard him speak, it was clearer. He sounded mature and capable, and she realized that she still thought of him, Christine and Meg as children, never really thinking of them capable of anything considerable. It was obvious that they weren't, but she held on to the image of them that way for too long. Suddenly, she felt unspeakably old.

It dawned on her that Meg might actually have the audacity to pull off Erik's mask, and it was something that she hadn't really thought possible before. It was also something that she saw she could prevent.

Quietly, she walked down the hall to the sickroom so that she could talk to Meg alone.

"I want you to put all of this business with Erik's face out of your mind, Meg," she said firmly.

"I just want to see what he looks like," Meg protested.

"He has a right to privacy like anyone else. You need to respect that."

"I don't go around wearing a mask!"

"You aren't deformed, either Meg. He was forced to exhibit his face in a freak show when he was a child. That's where I found him."

Meg looked down, avoiding her mother's eyes. "I didn't know that," she said softly, "I'll stop."

"Thank you."

The music from the other room that they could hear faintly stopped, and Madame Giry got up to talk to Christine.

"Meg won't cause any more trouble about Erik's mask," she said softly when they were out of Erik's hearing.

"Why?" Christine asked.

Madame Giry winked, and the display of humor was unlike the dignified old lady that Christine was used to.

"I have my ways."

Christine furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't think that you're going to tell me what they are."

"No, I'm not."


	20. Chapter 20

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**, sorry to disappoint you. **

Erik ran down the steps to the lake and rowed across as quickly as he could, which was unusual for him. Today he had with him two important things for Christine and the Girys. He found himself panting when he opened the door.

"Where were you?" Christine asked, eyeing the item tucked under his arm. There was something strange about seeing Erik like this; this was the first time that she saw him tired. He seemed excited about something, as though he didn't realized how worn-out he was.

"I was upstairs…I heard an important…conversation…the opera's repairs are finished…it opens again in one week," he said, dismayed at how exhausted he sounded.

"How fast did you come down here?" she asked without taking her eyes of what he was carrying.

"I ran."

Erik sat down on the settee next to her and moved the unwieldy object onto his lap.

"This is the opera that their going to be performing next," he said smoothly not that he caught his breath.

The cover of the score read _The Magic Flute_, and it was an opera Christine was familiar with.

Christine breathed something like a sigh of relief; it was more a release than anything. "I've been waiting to find out what they'd choose. I thought that they'd run _Faust_ because most of the performers already know it."

"I'm shocked that they didn't pick _Don Juan Triumphant,_" Erik remarked dryly.

"I'm sure that the composer is upset, especially because that opera was such a success. Do you know who's going to play The Queen of Night?" Christine fully expected the answer to be Carlotta, but there was still the chance that the management had come to their senses and gotten a new prima donna.

"You, if they know what's good for them," Erik said, "Carlotta will make a mess of any production of that opera."

"Erik, they know you're the ghost now. You won't have the influence that you had before. You can't interfere with casting."

"I'll find a way." He sounded confident, and Christine could tell that he had something up his sleeve. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was or not.

"Do you know what my role will be?"

"The Queen o-"

"What is it _actually?_"

"I don't know yet."

"But I'm going to learn The Queen of Night anyway."

"Christine, you're going to get that part." There was a determined look in his eyes that scared Christine a little bit, but excited her in a strange way at the same time.

Meg walked in at that moment, saving Christine from replying.

"What part?" she asked, joining in the conversation casually. She was feeling better now, and she wasn't bedridden anymore

"The opera's opening up in a week," Christine explained, "We're going to perform _The Magic Flute_."

"Are all of the repairs finished, then?" Meg asked.

"Yes," Erik said, "I was just up there."

"I want to go see," Meg said to Christine, "Will you come with me?"

Christine nodded and rose.

"I think that most of the people left, but there might be one or two left. Be careful," Erik warned them.

"You sound like my mother," Meg replied.

Christine wasn't used to hearing Meg speak to Erik so informally, but she supposed that sickness was the only thing that kept Meg quiet for so long.

The two girls went upstairs, trying to stay in the shadows to be careful. Christine tried to find something that was different, but the only thing that she had seen before was on the roof. The new builder used a different colored stone to repair some patches of the roof. She remembered because Erik had gotten very angry over that. Other than that detail, it was a surreal experience, like stepping back in time. Corridors that were always bustling were empty, making them feel somewhat like ghosts. _They're only going to be this quiet for another week,_ Christine reminded herself.

When they were sure that there was no one around, Meg and Christine crept out of the shadows. Meg went directly to the stage, running down the aisle with a leap. Christine clapped, and she bowed.

"I thought that they'd never be done fixing this place," Meg said, sitting on the edge of the stage.

"It's strange," Christine answered, "It's like there's something missing."

"Could it be the ghost?"

"Don't start that again."

"Fine," Meg sighed, "But let's go to Box 5 and see if it meets the Opera Ghost's standards."

"Erik is not a ghost, Meg," Christine said in a serious tone.

"I know that," Meg said, rolling her eyes. She wanted to keep the mood light, but Christine could see through her smile.

"Sometimes I don't think you do."

"Christine…"

"When everyone comes back here, they're going to know this place isn't really haunted. You know that it was Erik the whole time."

"We just meant it in fun."

"I know. I just don't think you understand that nothing's the same anymore; it all changed when this place burned."

Meg was quiet for a moment, staring down into her lap. A thought struck her and she looked up suddenly.

"That doesn't mean we can't leave a surprise for Mother in one of the practice rooms," she said with an impish smile.

"She'll probably skin you alive," Christine answered, "But that doesn't mean I won't come with." She was smiling too, and Meg was glad to see that it reached her eyes.

When they were done with making their "arrangements" for the next week, Christine and Meg went through the mirror in Christine's dressing room. Going through the room was even more dreamlike because white sheets were thrown over the furniture. The room was empty except for the eerie white shapes. The knowledge that someone had been in the room gave Christine a vague sense of intrusion.

_I'll be back there in a week_, Christine thought in the passageway, _That's an incredibly short amount of time._


	21. Chapter 21

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_** Some shameless advertising: Please join the Facebook group "Love Should Die" if you're against Love Never Dies. If we all join together, maybe our voices will be heard (Please? For Erik?) On with the show!**

Christine and Meg sat on the floor with their legs spread out in front of them in "V" shapes and their feet touching. Because she was in bed for so long, Meg was stiff, so Christine was stretching with her. They held hands, and Christine leaned back, pulling Meg forward.

"I feel like it's been ages since we last did this," Christine said. She remembered that the ballerinas used to use this stretch as an excuse to talk without getting yelled at by Madame Giry. Meg sat up and leaned back, pulling Christine the same way.

"I'm going to be doing it a lot more in three days," Meg replied. She leaned back, and they switched again.

"It can't be three days," Christine said. There was no way that she could go back up there so soon. She had been counting down the days, but something about hearing it from Meg made it hit her again forcefully.

"We're going back in three days," Meg reminded her in a muffled voice, "And you still haven't decided what you're going to do about it."

Christine sat up and pulled her hands out of Meg's so she could look her friend in the eyes. "What do you think I should do? It's not like I can stay here for much longer."

"Then stay in the Opera like Mother and I are. It's what you did before."

"Everyone knows that I was…am…involved with Erik and all the Phantom business. I don't want to be surrounded by it." Christine deplored the blush that she knew accompanied her sentence.

"If anyone bothers you about it, they'll have to answer to me," Meg said.

"You can't take on the entire opera company," Christine said with a short laugh.

"Erik will help me," Meg said as if that would fix everything.

"He's not the Phantom. He doesn't have any power," Christine said, thinking of the dangerous look in Erik's eyes when he told her she was getting the lead. She squirmed a little at the memory.

"You don't seem very confident," Meg observed.

"Erik says he can still influence the management. He had this look in his eyes. I really hope that there won't be deaths."

"Well, at least _I'm_ excited about going back," Meg remarked. There was something in her tone and face that made Christine sit up a little straighter.

"My God, that look in his eyes…He looked like you when you're up to something," Christine said with a mock horror that was only partly fake. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed it before, but she wasn't used to connecting Meg with Erik.

Meg looked at Christine for a moment, trying to decide whether what her friend said was a compliment or an insult before she answered her. "I think you should stay in the opera. There really isn't anywhere else for you to go," she said, changing the subject because she wasn't sure how to respond.

"I think I will," Christine said, "but I'll keep looking for something else."

Christine stood up and smoothed her dress down. She knew that Meg really just used stretching as a ruse to talk to her alone. The conversation felt like it was over, so she left the room without another word.

Christine found herself wandering back up to the opera, but she was too lost in her thoughts to really notice her surroundings. Her conversation with Meg had brought something to the front of her mind that she had avoided thinking about. Going back to the opera meant that she would see a lot less of Erik, and she didn't know if they could stay as close as they were when she was hit with the deluge of rehearsals that a lead role would bring. She still wasn't sure if she even wanted to go back, but she knew she couldn't give up singing. Finding herself in standing in the main auditorium of the opera, Christine sang a few lines from an old aria to fill the silence. The emptiness of the cavernous hall felt like a tomb to her.

"I though I might find you here," a voice said behind her. Christine jumped when she heard it, but when she realized it was Erik, she turned around calmly.

"Hello," she said, trying to sound cheerful. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and Erik noticed it right away.

"Madame Giry sent me to find you. What are you doing up here anyway?" Erik said, moving closer to her.

"I don't know actually," Christine said, her face falling a little bit.

"Is something wrong?" Erik asked.

Christine wanted to be alone, but she didn't want to tell Erik that. She knew he would worry and blow everything out of proportion and blame himself, thinking that something horrible happened. If she pretended to be happy, it would only confuse him, so she answered, "Yes, actually."

He didn't answer her; he looked at her expectantly while waiting for her to fill the silence. Christine felt guilty at the thought of wanting to be alone, and she found it difficult to meet the softness in his eyes with her own.

"When I go back to the opera…" she began, "When I go back, things are going to be different. I'll be busy, and I won't see you all the time. I don't know if I want things to change."

"Christine ," he breathed, his eyes closed. "Then don't go back."

"I have to. It wouldn't feel right if I didn't." She didn't know how to explain it, but she knew that she would go back to the opera and sing because the memory of her father would always be at the back of her mind. If she left the stage now, she would be wondering what her father would say. Christine couldn't bear his disappointment, even for Erik's sake.

"I won't be very far, just in the cellars. It's not as if you're moving across the country."

Christine finally managed to meet his eyes. "I'm making a fuss, aren't I? It's not going to be too bad."

"I think we should get going," Erik replied, "If we stay here too long, Madame Giry will probably begin to wonder what were doing up here."


	22. Chapter 22

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_

**I just thought that I'd warn you: April is Script Frenzy, a writing challenge where one tries to write 100 pages worth of some type of script before the end of the month. I'm participating in it this year, so expect fewer updates until May.**

The day to return to the opera had come, and Christine still found herself having doubts about going back that morning. She glared at the ceiling for a minute or so before she dragged herself out of bed. Her room was oddly bare because she had packed the night before, and she didn't like the way it felt empty. It made her feel like she was only cluttering the space.

At breakfast, the conversation was dominated by Meg, who only talked more when she was excited about something. Erik seemed to be watching Christine intently, and she knew he could read her feelings clearly on her face. She wanted to talk to him privately before she left, so she gave him a significant look when she stood up.

"I want to thank you," she said when the Girys were out of the room, "for everything."

"You don't-" he started to say.

"Yes, I do. I'm not sure where I'd be right now if you hadn't brought me here."

"You can blame the Vicompte for that," Erik muttered darkly.

"You're probably right," Christine replied. She decided it was probably better to ignore his insult than to defend Raoul on a day when she was going to leave Erik alone. "I can assume you'll be watching me all day?"

"What would a rehearsal be without the ghost?" Erik smiled at her diabolically, and it did nothing to calm her nerves.

"I don't know what you're plotting, but please promise me there will be no deaths."

"I can promise you that much. Nothing else will happen as long as the managers comply." Christine gave him a doubtful look before she left to get her things. After the events at the last performance, she was doubtful that the managers would "comply" as readily as before.

Christine and the Girys said their final good-byes to Erik just inside the Rue Scribe entrance, where Meg surprised them all by throwing her arms around Erik. Christine kissed him lightly on a masked cheek, and Madame Giry awkwardly shook his hand, unsure whether she should have embraced him the way Meg did or not. The trio left Erik in the passage, but Christine couldn't help a glance back at the door.

The first thing that struck them about being outside was the bright sunlight, something none of them had seen in a while. Being in the sun bolstered Christine's confidence, and for a moment she could believe that everything would be as it was before.

It was obvious that things would be different; seeing the managers told her that much. There was a marked change in them since she had last seen them. Both Richard and Moncharmin looked as if they had aged years. They greeted Madame Giry with a distracted, but warm air, but they met Christine with reserve. In their minds, Christine was somehow implicated in the business with the Opera Ghost, and it was the ghost who they were afraid of. Christine found that she was greeted in the same cold, but polite way by most of the opera company. She knew that the ballet girls were whispering about her, but as the leading lady, she was expected to pay little attention to them. The only real bright bits of the day was the new tenor who would replace Piangi, Henri Michel, who didn't know about her past with the Phantom and Carlotta's absence. Henri was actually friendly to her, and she was glad to have someone who could be a clean slate. In addition, Carlotta had left France to join another opera house because waiting for the opera house to be rebuilt was apparently beneath her.

The worst part of the day was the appearance of Raoul. The main patrons of the opera were there for the "new beginning," and Christine dreaded having to talk to him after the way she ran from him at the masked ball. As much as she wanted to apologize, she wasn't sure how to speak to him, or if he even wanted anything to do with her at all. Erik would probably listen to a conversation with Raoul (even if he wouldn't admit it later), and Christine didn't want to examine how she felt about that.

Eventually the day ended, and the only real progress that had been made was assigning parts. It seemed that everyone felt obliged to make some sort of speech about how the opera was "rising from the ashes" and "ushering in a new era after a great tragedy." The speeches were repetitive, and it was obvious that everyone was getting tired of pretending to be interested. Christine was especially tired of the looks she got whenever the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant _was alluded to. It was a relief when it was finally over and Christine could unpack and possibly slip down to the cellars and see Erik.

"Would you like me to carry that for you?" someone said behind her, referring to her heavy stack of sheet music. It was Raoul.

"Yes, please," Christine replied in a strangled voice. There was a short silence while she handed the music to Raoul. "I'm sorry about what happened at the masked ball," she blurted out suddenly.

"I am, too. I should have seen that things have changed," Raoul said, sounding much older than her really was. Christine didn't know what she expected him to say, but this understanding wasn't it. It pained her to hear him speak that way, and it stirred up some pity for him.

"I should explain," Christine said, almost to herself, "When I left, Erik took me in."

"Erik? You were with that monster?" Raoul said angrily.

"He's not a monster! I love him," Christine retorted hotly.

"Wonderful. Not only do I lose you, but you go to him of all people afterward."

"_He_ found _me_."

"It doesn't matter, does it? It's not fair either way."

"Maybe if you hadn't _abandoned_ me…"

"What was I supposed to do?"

"You didn't have to listen to them. It's in the past, anyway."

"I suppose you have a point. We shouldn't fight over this."

"I can carry my music myself," Christine said coldly, taking the papers out of Raoul's hands. "Good day."

She turned around quickly and walked away without looking back until she reached her dressing room. Raoul left to find Philippe, feeling jaded and frustrated. He wondered if he would ever accept the loss of Christine Daaé.


	23. Chapter 23

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_

Christine found Erik in her dressing room when she opened the door, and she knew that he heard at least part of her conversation with Raoul. The strange thing was that she found she didn't mind it. She wasn't sure if she should have been bothered it or not. If Raoul had heard an argument between her and Erik, she probably would have been angry with him. With Erik, she felt differently about it, and it confused her.

"Are you angry with the Vicompte?" Erik asked tonelessly without any prior greeting.

"I don't know. I want to be angry with him for calling you a monster, but I find I don't care much about him anymore," she answered tiredly.

"_I_'m angry with him for upsetting you." There was more venom in his voice than Christine expected to hear. She heard more than anger; there was pent-up frustration, too.

"Erik…" she said in a warning tone.

"I'm not going to hurt him, today at least."

She hoped changing the subject would calm him down. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I…" He didn't actually know why he was there, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. Christine's conspicuous absence in his day had driven him to her dressing room, but he didn't know how to express it without showing how utterly obsessed with her he was.

"I see." She quirked an eyebrow at him, making him quail and begin to inch toward the mirror. "What exactly did you do today?"

"I watched the rehearsal," Erik said, grateful that she filled in the awkward pause, "and I managed not to burn the opera a second time."

"At least you survived the day without me."

"Barely," Erik said, only partly jokingly.

Christine put her arms around him, filling the space between them and resting her head against him. "Me, too," she whispered, wishing she could stay where she was for a long time.

Erik was about to stroke her hair when there was a soft knock at the door. He and Christine jumped apart so quickly it was almost comical, and Erik darted behind the mirror with astonishing speed.

"Come in," Christine called uncertainly as she walked to the door.

Two small ballerinas that she didn't know very well cautiously entered. The smaller one (Christine thought her name was Jammes.) nudged the other forward slightly.

"We wanted to ask you something," Jammes said.

"What?" Christine replied sharply. She was sure Erik was watching, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head.

"Well…do you know the Phantom of the Opera?" the younger blurted out quickly. Christine blanched, dread beginning to grip her.

"Who told you I know the ghost?" she asked, instantly thinking of Meg. _I could _kill _her for gossiping, _she thought furiously. _I trusted her!_

"Most of the other ballerinas said so. Sorelli said the Vicompte de Chagny knows him, too," the older one offered.

"Sorelli was talking about it the most," Jammes added.

"That's a silly rumor," Christine said, gaining some composure, "You shouldn't believe it. Don't think that I won't tell Madame Giry about this, either."

Mentioning Madame Giry had the same effect as mentioning the bogeyman; the girls bolted quickly.

"I was afraid of that," Christine said softly. She felt like the two girls would hear her if she spoke too loudly, even though they were probably gone.

"No one believes the rumors from the ballet," Erik said in her ear. She didn't hear him move from behind the mirror.

"But that one's true. I just want to know where Sorelli found that out." Christine turned around to face him and found that he was standing closer to her than she originally thought. She kissed him impulsively, feeling pleasantly devious at being alone with him in her dressing room. It felt wrong after the visit from the ballerinas, and Christine pulled herself away from Erik with discontent.

"I'm wondering," Erik mused, "if it was the Vicompte that told the ballerinas about me."

Christine asked, "Why would Raoul do that? Everyone saw me take off your mask in _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"But they didn't know that the person they saw onstage was me," Erik countered, "or had any dealings at all with the Phantom."

"The dancers are obsessed with the Opera Ghost. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them connected a description of the ghost with you."

"You're right. I'm going to watch the Vicompte and Meg closely," Erik said, "I don't want you to get hurt."

Meanwhile, Jammes and the other dancer, Angelique, were returning to the other ballerinas with Christine's answer to their question. After seeing the way that she paled at their inquiry, they were certain that she wasn't telling them something.

"What did she say?" one of the other girls asked excitedly.

"Nothing," Jammes answered, "but you should have seen her face when we asked her!'"I told you didn't I?" Sorelli interjected, "There's something going on with Christine Daaé."

"Maybe she's a ghost!" Angelique said excitedly.

"Maybe she is _the_ ghost," Jammes amended. The other ballerinas whispered eagerly.

"Don't be silly," Sorelli said, "Mademoiselle Daaé isn't a ghost. She probably just knows something that we don't."

"And what might that be?" Meg asked argumentatively, joining the conversation for the first time. She never cared much for Sorelli, and she only felt more disdain know that the other dancer was talking about her best friend.

"I don't know. She knows something about the de Chagnys and the Phantom, so maybe there's a connection there," Sorelli answered.

An awed Angelique whispered, "Are you saying that the Compte or Vicompte de Chagny is the Phantom of the Opera?"

"That's ridiculous!" Meg cried.

"It's possible," Sorelli said mysteriously, thoroughly enjoying this new puzzle, "The only thing I'm sure of is that Christine Daaé is hiding something, and I intend to find out what that is."

The directions that this could go were obvious to Meg, and she knew exactly what lengths the ballerinas would go to learn more about their fixations. She was very familiar with the way they could become obsessed with something that interested them. It was a dangerous threat to Erik's quiet existence under the opera, so she slipped out of the room as quietly as she could to go talk to him.

What none of the ballerinas knew was that Henri Michel heard their conversation on the other side of the door. He didn't know what he was going to do with this information, but he knew it could prove to be valuable. The other thing that the ballerinas didn't know was that Henri Michel had a secret just like Christine did. He was merely better at keeping it.


	24. Chapter 24

**I don't own_ The Phantom of the Opera._**

Christine found that she was splitting her time between two different worlds and fearing whether they would clash. She had been waiting for something horrific, like the chandelier crash, to happen because of the master plan Erik alluded to. At the same time, she had begun to wonder if he was just enjoying scaring her. There were enough things that went missing to make her believe that the Phantom wasn't completely idle, but she feared that the ballerinas would notice the opera ghost never seemed to take anything from the current prima donna.

Christine was talking to Meg while a scene they weren't in was being rehearsed, and some scenery that was being painted fell. It somehow managed to end up in the orchestra pit, making a mess of the musicians. The ballerinas screamed, and Madame Giry instantly called for quiet.

"Erik?" Meg asked Christine. The clamor from the falling set assured them that no one would overhear their conversation.

Christine replied, "I have no idea."

"Leave her alone," a voice rang out, "If you don't leave on your own I may have to make you. It's not going to go away." The speaker was Erik, and he was making a strong message to someone in the opera. The question was, who?

"Look at Henri," Meg said, jerking her head in his direction.

Christine saw that he had become suddenly pale, and he looked angry and seemed to be shaking. He saw her looking at him and smiled, but the smile looked more like a strange grimace.

"What was Erik talking about?" Christine asked, though she doubted Meg knew anymore than she did.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No…"

"You've been talking to Henri a lot lately. Erik's probably jealous," Meg said.

"But Henri was the only person who would actually talk to me when we came back here," Christine said.

"Then tell Erik that."

"He should know better."

"Look at what happened with Raoul."

"That was different."

"Mademoiselle Daaé," Reyer called, "we need you to rehearse act three."

Christine spent the rest of the rehearsal with her mind in another place, but nobody seemed to notice. The only person who would have noticed was Henri, but he was just as preoccupied as she was. Monsieur Reyer saw that both of the leads were making more mistakes than usual, and he ascribed it to the shock of the scenery falling and the "mysterious" voice. He decided to end practice early so that everyone could rest.

Christine went down to the house on the lake as soon as Reyer said she could go. It was probably reckless of her not to go to her dressing room first, but she cared more about talking to Erik. He had been watching the rehearsal from one of his "additions" to the opera house, and she met him in a secret passage before she got to the lake.

"What was that all about today?" she asked him.

"Henri Michel needs to leave the opera immediately," Erik said.

"Why?" Christine said, "He's a perfectly good singer. He's probably better than Piangi."

"He's going deaf," Erik said shortly, "But he's been keeping that fact from the management. He shouldn't be lying to them that way. And he's been-"

Christine cut him off bluntly, "He's been what? Just say it."

"Henri Michel is obsessed with Meg Giry."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. He doesn't show it because he's got too much sense."

"How strange." Christine shuddered; it was hard to believe that someone who seemed so nice could be keeping so much from everyone he knew. "Is that really it?"

"What do you mean, you curious girl?" Erik said, laughing, "How many secrets could one man have?"

"Meg said that you only want him gone because he's nice to me," Christine said with a blush.

"He's only been nice to you because he wants to get closer to Meg."

"You're only doing all of this because you want to protect Meg, correct?"

"And I don't want the opera to have the embarrassment of finding out they have a deaf tenor."

Christine smiled. "That's so… _gallant_, Erik." Only Erik would force a singer to leave the opera because he's lying, and pretend to be a ghost to do it. He was full of contradictions, and she loved him for it.

"Do you really think so?" Henri Michel said.

"What are you doing here?" Erik said, taking a step forward so he stood in front of Christine.

"I merely wanted to see if Mademoiselle Daaé really does know the Opera Ghost," Henri replied, "It's all that the ballerinas seem to talk about."

"Leave us alone, Henri," Christine said.

Henri taunted, "I don't think that I will. Now that I know where the Phantom of the Opera resides, I think it would be the honest thing to do to would be to turn him over to the police."

"What do you want?" Erik asked.

"To be left alone," Henri said simply, "If you bother me or Meg Giry again, then I will just turn you into the police."

"Since when did he bother Meg? He nursed her when she was sick," Christine said, "You must not know anything about her."

"I know that he's getting in the way of Meg and me," Henri said, "and that's all that really matters." He walked away from them, and his footsteps echoed in the passage long after he was out of earshot.

"I should kill him," Erik muttered menacingly.

"Don't do that!" Christine cried, "There've been enough deaths already."

"I don't think I can promise that anymore," Erik said.

"How do the managers fit into this?" Christine asked.

"I told them that if they don't listen to me, I'll tell everyone that they knowingly hired a man losing his hearing to sing in the opera. They couldn't bear for everyone to know what fools they are."

"And what if they figure all this out?"

"Then I'll have to be creative."

The word "creative" sounded so much more sinister when Erik said it.


	25. Chapter 25

**I'm sorry about how late this is. The next chapter will hopefully be up sooner. I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_** Enjoy!**

Meg was walking down a passage alone when she heard footsteps behind her, and she paused to listen to them. The sound stopped when she did, and she turned around. There was no one there.

"Erik?" she called softly, even though she knew he'd make his presence known if he was there. After another moment, she whispered, "Henri?"

She saw him shuffle out from behind a corner and move towards her uncertainly.

"What do you want?" she asked, resenting the tremble in her voice.

"I want to talk to you," he said as warmly as he could. Meg felt herself relax involuntarily; she almost had to remind herself that he was threatening Erik.

"About what?" she asked, deciding not to reveal anything in case he hadn't heard her call Erik's name earlier.

Henri said, "Your friend Erik. He's told you about me." Meg thought he seemed a little less cordial now that Erik was the topic of conversation.

"I don't know an Erik. You must be thinking of someone else," Meg said, trying her best to look apologetic. A shadow fell across Henri's face.

"You don't have to pretend. I won't tell." He smiled at Meg, a picture of friendliness, and she hated the way she felt so comfortable around him.

"Unless he tells about you," she snapped, annoyed at his transparent attempt to get her on his side.

"I'm sorry, but I'm protecting everyone here. To have a killer roaming around, unchecked…"

"If you really wanted to protect everyone, you would have turned him in," Meg retorted, getting tired of the conversation.

"And create a fuss? I couldn't have that," Henri said with a languor that irked her.

"That's weak," Meg said shortly, trying to move around him.

He blocked her way easily and said, "Erik's weak if he won't show his face."

"He's deformed, so he wears a mask. You should at least know that much," Meg replied testily.

"I'm sorry. I just want to protect everyone," Henri said, giving her a sweet look that would have made her forgive him if she wasn't so irritated.

"Then what about Christine Daaé? She's under the opera with him all the time."

"We both know he'd never hurt her," Henri answered.

Meg added, "Or me. Or my mother."

"The four of you aren't the entire opera," Henri said, "even if you seem like the whole world to me, Meg."

Meg wasn't touched by what he said. "You're going deaf. You just don't want your secret out."

"Can you blame me?"

"No. I can't," Meg said, feeling a little empathy for Henri for the first time.

"Now you see it from my point of view. Goodnight, Meg." he said, blowing a kiss and walking away. She scowled at his back immaturely until he turned a corner farther down the hallway.

"Meg?" Erik hissed, startling her. He was inside the wall, but his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

"Did you hear all of that?" she asked quietly, as though Henri was still in earshot.

"Yes. Do you mind?"

"We were talking about you. I understand," she said truthfully. She was a bit unnerved that he was there, but she felt better that she wasn't really alone with Henri.

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this," Erik said.

"Why don't you just kill him?"

"I promised Christine."

"Do you think she'd mind if I killed him?" Meg asked sarcastically.

"Meg!" Erik hissed, "If she-"

"Relax. I was joking," Meg reassured him.

Erik replied with a soft, "Oh," after a long silence.

"I'll talk to you later," Meg said, eager to get to bed.

"Goodnight."

Meg slept easily that night, knowing there was someone watching out for her.

"Why does he keep looking at you like that?" Christine whispered to Meg during a rehearsal the next day.

"I told you what happened last night," Meg hissed back.

"I thought he'd be a little more subtle."

"Meg! Christine!" Madame Giry bared, "Quiet!"

"Sorry," they apologized in unison.

"Like Erik's subtle," Meg muttered.

Christine didn't reply; she had to start singing.

"Are you starting to agree with Henri?" Christine asked later.

"Of course not," Meg said quickly.

"You're beginning to sound like it," Christine observed.

"Excuse me?"

"You sound just like him!"

"I didn't mean it that way," Meg explained.

"It sounded like it," Christine said in a more apologetic tone.

Later that day, Erik came to Christine's dressing room. Meg's words about Henri had been replaying in his head all day. Even though she wasn't serious, he still thought that there might be some merit to them.

"I have a question for you," he said as a greeting.

"What?" she asked, a little frightened. She hadn't heard him come in.

"If Meg killed Henri, would you mind?"

"Of course. If anyone killed him, I'd mind."

Erik avoided her eyes, and Christine filled in the gaps herself.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of putting her up to it!" she exclaimed.

"I wasn't going to. I was just wondering, that's all," Erik said, surprised how distressed she was. "I'm sorry if I upset you,"

"I just don't want all of this to get worse," Chrisine said soothingly, cupping his mask with her hand.

"Do you think I do?" he asked, covering her hand with his. His hand was cold, and Christine shivered slightly.

"If they find out what he knew, they might blame me," Christine explained.

"Because of _Don Juan Triumphant?_" Erik asked.

"Yes. Even the ballerinas know something."

"It's my fault, then," Erik muttered darkly, moving his hand and turning away from her.

Before Christine could respond, he'd disappeared through the mirror. She could still feel a phantom tingle on the hand that had just been touching his mask.


	26. Chapter 26

**I'd apologize for how late this chapter is, but you probably don't want to hear it. I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_

Christine stared at her reflection in the mirror dumbly for almost a full minute before she decided to follow Erik. She thought it would be better to find out what upset him soon than to let him calm down before talking to him. It seemed like he'd only be more distraught if she waited, rather than composed or receptive. There was also a tiny worm of fear in the back of her mind that told her she hurt Erik, and she wanted to silence it as soon as she could.

When she got to the house on the lake, she could hear organ music clearly. She stopped to listen to it for a moment, hoping for a clue as to why Erik was so angry. The music was full of sharp, accented notes and written in a minor key like most of the things Erik wrote when he was furious about something. Christine couldn't discern anything more specific than anger, so she knocked on the door even though she knew he wouldn't hear.

It occurred to her that she no longer felt any panic when Erik flew to his organ in a fit of rage. She had calmed him down this way enough times before that she knew what to expect, and Erik's violent tempers had become more of an everyday occurrence rather than a frightful flare-up.

After waiting to see if Erik somehow had heard her knock, she pushed open the door and found a familiar sight. Erik was at his organ, banging on the keys angrily and oblivious to everything that wasn't music. She watched him for a moment; there was something inherently fascinating about watching Erik play, especially when he was emotional.

She walked over to him and tapped his shoulder to get his attention. The music ended abruptly, like a curtain falling down on a stage during a performance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, twisting around on the piano bench to face her. He doubted that she realized she was the only person who he could calm himself enough to talk to at that moment.

"I want to know why you're upset. You left so quickly…" Christine replied, wondering why he even bothered to ask.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone." It was maddening to try to resolve what was going on inside his own head and try to soothe himself enough to be civil with Christine. He hated to think he was scaring her.

Christine answered, "If you were fine, you wouldn't have left in the middle of a conversation."

"I want to be alone."

"Just tell me what's wrong, Erik. Then I'll leave you alone," Christine said as gently as she could.

He sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get the solitude he wanted. "It's my fault we can't handle the problem with Henri."

Christine interjected, "It's-"

"Just listen," Erik interrupted, "If it wasn't for me, Madame Giry could get him away from Meg. He wouldn't be here."

"I don't understand why you're so angry. It's not your fault."

"I don't want Meg in danger because of me."

"Henri isn't going to hurt her," Christine said, but she didn't really believe it. If Erik had almost hurt her before, she was sure Henri was capable of doing the same thing to Meg.

"I don't trust him."

"Then trust Meg to keep herself safe."

"I do."

"Then why are you so upset?" Christine said, smiling with the victory of talking Erik out of a foul mood.

"I don't know," Erik admitted.

"Now I'll leave you alone. I should get to bed anyway."

"Good night."

Christine slept easily that night, knowing that she was at least able to resolve one problem.

The next day consisted of frantic dress rehearsals and last minute preparations for opening night, which was going to be that evening. The opening of _The Magic Flute_ was made even more important because it represented the opera's rebirth after the fire. Christine was already tired of all the looks the ballerinas shot at her after every reference to the fire in the speeches the managers and Reyer made to the company. All day, people were rushing around, hurrying, and snapping at each other in impertinence.

"I don't understand how you can be so relaxed," Christine said to Erik while she was warming up in her dressing room.

"I know you and Meg are going to do well. What else about this performance matters?" he replied, "Henri can earn the ire of critics everywhere."

"Then maybe he'd leave the opera," Christine added.

"I wish we were that lucky. Break a leg," Erik smoothly. He left, and with him went Christine's confidence. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't see the Queen of Night, just an opera singer who didn't know if she was ready for such a difficult part. There wasn't enough time for her to try to be more positive; the opera was about to start. She smoothed her hair down one last time and headed backstage.

Once she began singing, Christine didn't have room in her head to focus on her doubts; it took all her concentration to sing Mozart's complex music and focus on what was happening onstage. There were no major problems, and the performance went so fast that it all ran together in her memory afterward. It seemed like the opera had only started when she found herself taking her final bows, and the audience's delighted reaction made Christine feel much more self-assured than before. She was sure she heard Erik whisper, "Brava," while she was opening the door to her dressing room later.

It wasn't until the next day that the feeling of calm that came with singing will was shattered.


	27. Chapter 27

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera.**_

The reviews of _The Magic Flute_ started to float through the opera house early the next morning. Christine had joined Meg and some of the ballerinas in a rehearsal room to read them, and the group found that most of the critics felt that the production was enjoyable, though not spectacular.

Christine picked up a paper that hadn't been read yet and flipped directly to the review by a critic named Léon Binet. The review sounded like most of the other ones until the fourth paragraph. Binet criticized the ballet harshly and unfairly, but Christine wasn't unduly bothered by it until she read on a little farther.

"I was specifically irked by the inept dancer, Meg Giry," he wrote, "who didn't seem to know her steps. I was shocked to discover that she is the daughter of the opera's ballet mistress. Miss Giry has no right to call herself a dancer."

Christine pointed the passage out to the ballerinas, who were outraged at how he singled out Meg. No other review had mentioned anything about her, and some reviews praised the dancers' performance. Before noon, someone had shown Henri the review because Léon Binet devoted a considerable portion of the review discussing Henri's first large role. It wasn't long before Henri took action.

Léon Binet was found dead later that day, and the corps de ballet collectively pointed a finger at the Opera Ghost. Christine came to the same conclusion that they did, and stormed down to the lake after she heard the news.

"Why did you kill Léon Binet?" she asked Erik in a tear-choked voice.

"The critic? What are you talking about?" Erik hadn't heard about the death yet, and Christine's appearance in the middle of the day only confused him more.

"Don't lie to me after you broke your promise," Christine replied.

Erik handed her a handkerchief and sat her down on the couch because he was too alarmed to respond to her accusations or try to calm her down. He didn't meet her eyes the entire time.

"I didn't kill him," Erik said after a moment of expectant silence, "I haven't even gotten a newspaper yet."

"Of course you haven't," Christine snapped.

Erik avoided her eyes and didn't answer, which Christine interpreted as an admission of guilt. She stood up and walked out of the room without another word. Erik didn't follow her; he knew that there was no point in trying to reason with her in the state she was in. He desperately wanted to explain everything to her, but he couldn't bear to face her anger. Hopefully, she'd listen to him after she relaxed, but Erik worried that this would be the last time he'd speak to Christine Daaé.

Christine immediately looked for one of the Girys when she was on the main floor of the opera. Before she found anyone else, Christine found Meg in an empty hallway.

"I know who killed Binet!" Meg said, too emotional and excited to notice her friend's tears.

"So do I," Christine said, "I can't believe he'd break a promise."

Meg asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Erik."

"But Henri just told me he did it," Meg said slowly, "He told me all these details, too."

"No. It had to be Erik," Christine said, thinking of his silence and the pain she'd seen in his eyes.

"You should have seen Henri when he told me; it was frightening," Meg said.

"You should have seen Erik. The guilt was written all over him," Christine replied.

"Henri told me things only the killer would know," Meg said, hoping to end the discussion there.

"He made it up," Christine insisted, "You can't trust him. He probably just wanted to impress you or something."

"Christine you don't understand," Meg pleaded.

"Erik did it. I know it's hard to believe, Meg."

"You're not listening to me!"

"You're the one who's not listening!"

"What's wrong with everyone today?" Christine asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"Erik betrayed me, and you won't even listen to me," Christine cried.

"I am listening, but you're wrong," Meg said.

"You're wrong," Christine retorted.

"Christine…"

Christine didn't answer; she left Meg in a huff. She was stuck by an aching need to visit her father's grave and ask him for advice.

The cemetery was empty when Christine arrived; a stillness permeated the entire place and magnified the sound of her footsteps. Christine passed crooked grey tombstones until she found her father's, which was indistinguishable from the rest, save the name "Gustave Daaé" and the dates of birth and death. She laid some flowers on the ground in front of the stone, and tears began to spill out of her eyes and run down her cheeks.

"I don't know who to listen to," she said quietly, hoping he would understand, "I think Erik did it, but Meg says it was Henri. I wish you could answer me, papa. I need you now. I need a sign to tell me you're still there."

The only immediate response to her appeal was silence, and it made her sound like a lost child. She tried to remember her father's smile, but the memories were clouded by time. The sound of footsteps behind her roused her from her reverie, and she turned around, expecting to see someone else visiting a grave. Erik was standing there instead.

"What are you doing here?" Christine asked, wondering if Erik's appearance had something to do with her father.

"Are you angry that I followed you?" Erik replied. He was unsure if he would be welcome or not, but some instinct had told him to come to the graveyard.

"Did you kill Léon Binet?" Christine said, "Tell the truth and I won't ask again."

"No," Erik answered honestly, "Meg told me that Henri did."

Christine paused, trying to decide who to believe. Erik's fear of her anger made the moment feel like an eternity, but Christine finally put her arms around Erik and kissed him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. _Thank you, papa_, she added silently.


	28. Chapter 28

**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera. **_**I apologize for the lateness of this chapter and the one before it. **

When Erik and Christine returned to the opera, Madame Giry rushed to meet them. Her hair was unkempt, falling out of the knot on top of her head, and there was a frantic look in her eyes. She also looked like she had been crying.

"Have you seen Meg?" she said breathlessly. The words were out almost as soon as Erik and Christine were in earshot.

"What's wrong?" Christine said.

"I don't know," the Madame Giry said, "That's why I asked you."

"Do you think Henri did something?" Erik asked, voicing Christine's thoughts aloud. His hand found Christine's and tightened around it, but otherwise he retained a stolid exterior.

"He might, but I'm not sure," Madame Giry said.

"Are you sure she wasn't skipping rehearsal or something?" Christine asked. Madame Giry had overreacted like this before, and she wanted to make sure this panic was justified.

Madame Giry said, "We ended a while ago, and she wasn't there. None of the other girls have seen her all day."

"Have you looked for her?" Christine said.

"Yes," Madame Giry said, "Will you please look through the opera again? I'll look outside. Erik can…" She looked at the mask and trailed off. No one was eager to fill the silence.

"I'll look through the passages around the lake to make sure she didn't get lost," Erik finished. Christine squeezed his hand, but she wasn't sure what she was trying to convey. He gave her an awkward half-smile before the three of them separated.

When Erik found himself alone under the opera, Henri appeared from behind a corner, his hands balled into fists and his eyes narrowed.

"Where is she?" he spat.

"I could ask you the same question," Erik said quietly.

"I want to know what you did to Meg."

"I'm looking for her, too. I'm her friend." The last word tasted funny in Erik's mouth.

"We all know someone like you can't have friends. Meg and the Daaé girl stay with you out of misguided guilt."

"How would you know? What do you know about either of them?"

"Someone told me all about it."

"Who, pray tell?"

"The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny." Henri grinned coldly; he was finding that this conversation was more amusing than he originally thought it would be. It was easier than he thought to get under Erik's skin. He just had to hit the right nerves.

"He knows nothing," Erik said. He knew full well that Henri was trying to get him angry, but he found himself falling for it anyway.

"He seems to know a lot about you, enough to make me wonder if Meg should be around you."

"That's in the past. It doesn't matter," Erik said. He sounded firm, but he was still trying to convince himself. Henri wasn't fooled, either.

'We both know the Daaé girl still loves him. She never liked you."

Erik didn't want to answer that, so he changed the subject. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want you to stay away from Meg! I know you know where-"

Henri found himself with his back to the wall and Erik's forearm crushing his windpipe. He didn't see Erik move. One moment he was standing in the corridor, and the next he was against the cold basement wall.

"Get out of the opera and leave us all alone," Erik said darkly, "or I will kill you."

He released Henri and strode away without another word.

Meanwhile, Christine was wandering the opera in search of Meg when two ballerinas, Élodie and Margot, came up to her. She saw them whispering loudly to each other before, completely unaware of the fact that Christine could hear them perfectly well. They were arguing over who was going to speak first, and Christine's insides writhed when she realized who they were going to ask her about.

"Have you found Meg yet?" the taller one, Margot, asked. Her companion elbowed her.

"No," Christine said, "not yet. I'd imagine Madame Giry is very worried."

Margot said, "We wondered if you knew why she left…if she was kidnapped."

"By the opera ghost!" Élodie added impatiently.

"The opera ghost is just a story. Why are you asking me?" Christine said, hoping she hadn't gone too pale when they brought up the ghost.

"He's real! Lot's of people have seen him," Élodie continued. She looked up and down the hallway. "We know you were kidnapped by the ghost."

Christine knew she must have made some reaction because Margot whispered in Élodie's ear. This time, it was too quiet for her to hear, even though she strained to listen.

"The ghost didn't kidnap Meg, and he doesn't like it when people talk that way. I'll tell him if you do and he'll actually kidnap someone," Christine said, trying her hardest to look stern and keep from smiling. She knew that some of the older ballerinas wouldn't believe her, but it would keep some from bothering her and poking around for a while. She knew the real opera ghost would approve.

Meg still hadn't been found when Erik went to bed that evening. He couldn't fall asleep after the worrisome realization that threatening Henri might have made him angry enough to expose him. It didn't seem likely to happen that late at night, but Erik got up and packed a few changes of clothing and essentials in case he needed to escape quickly, mostly just to get out of bed and move around. For a while, he stood outside the door to Christine's room, unsure whether or not he should take some of her things with him. Would she want to come with him? He decided against it. Christine wouldn't leave the opera for him.


	29. Chapter 29

**I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera._**

Christine was awakened from a fitful sleep in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps and the creak of a door opening. She sat up in bed to find Meg standing in the doorway. She was wet from the rain that had been falling steadily that evening; her sodden clothes stuck to her in odd places and made her figure look misshapen. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked uncharacteristically tired, but it didn't seem to be a simply a physical fatigue. Meg looked emotionally drained as well.

"Where were you?" Christine whispered when she was awake enough to realize she wasn't dreaming.

"I had to talk to someone," Meg said.

Christine gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed. "Who?" she asked, unable to keep the word from stretching out into a yawn..

"Léon Binet's widow," Meg answered, sitting on the edge of Christine's bed with her knees tucked against her chest.

Christine was beginning to remember that Meg was the reason she had been getting so little sleep. "What did you want with her? We were all worried about you," she said accusingly.

"I wanted to tell her about Henri. I wanted her to know I was sorry." There was a sincere appeal in Meg's eyes that caused the rebukes to die on Christine's lips.

"Meg, why didn't you just tell someone?" Christine asked.

"I didn't want Henri to find out," Meg said.

Christine said, "Has he hurt you?"

"No," Meg replied, "but I think he might."

"What took you so long to get here?" Christine asked.

"The Binets don't live in Paris," Meg answered.

"Did you walk all the way there? You should have told someone where you were," Christine said.

"I know," Meg said, "It probably wasn't worth it, but I wanted her to know I didn't want him to die."

"I see. What are you going to do about Henri?" Christine said, even though she really didn't understand Meg's reasoning. She still felt angry that Meg didn't tell her where she was going. Didn't Meg trust her enough to tell her something like this? Christine had shared her biggest secret with Meg at the Masked Ball, and she felt hurt that Meg couldn't do the same for her.

"Wait until he goes deaf," Meg said uncertainly. She was fully aware of how weak her plan sounded, but she didn't see any other way to deal with Henri.

"He's going to want to know where you were today," Christine said, "You don't have that kind of time."

"Hopefully he won't ask until we've come up with some excuse," Meg said, rising to leave.

"Wait, Meg," Christine said, "I'm sorry I got mad earlier. That was wrong; I should have believed you."

"Apology accepted. Good night," Meg said, slipping out the door as quietly as she could. It was one of the last times they would speak to each other face to face.

Henri was waiting for her in the hallway. His lips were set in a taut line, and his arms were crossed in front of his chest. He glared reproachfully and unflinchingly down at Meg as a thunder clap boomed, making her jump.

"Where were you?" he demanded.

"Why should I tell you?" Meg shot back. She sounded more brave than she felt, but she hoped Henri didn't see past her show of bravado.

"Because I care about where you were," he replied. His eyes softened for a moment, and for an instant, Meg believed he wasn't angry with her. The feeling passed almost as soon as it came.

She tried to push past him and leave, but her blocked her. She crossed her arms in front of her body, mimicking him and sighing.

"Meg, I care about you. Is that wrong?" he asked.

"Leave me alone." She started walking down the hall agitatedly, and Henri kept up with her. Meg stopped when they found themselves on the opera's empty, darkened grand staircase. The new electric lights, turned off for the night, cast strange, spindly shadows on the floor. Meg thought they looked like spider legs. She shuddered, being alone in such a eerie environment with Henri.

"You're not going anywhere with out telling me," Henri said, putting his hands on her shoulders. Meg shrugged him off instinctively and violently and pushed him away from her. She barely had time to register what had happened when she heard Henri's head strike the corner of a marble step and split with a sickening _thump _that echoed in her head long after the sound died away. For a moment the grisly scene was lit up brilliantly by a lightning bolt. She stared at the body and the growing pool of blood with a mix of disbelief, horror, and shock before she ran off in search of her mother and shook the entire opera house with a seismic wave that would reverberate long afterwards.

Erik was ready to leave the opera early that morning. He didn't know what information about him could turn up in the investigation regarding Henri's death, so he decided to leave until he knew he was safe in Paris. No one said that he might not come back, but the looks on the Giry's faces as they said goodbye showed him that they knew it was a possibility.

As soon as Christine heard what happened to Henri, she rushed down to the cellars to speak to Erik. When he saw her dashing down in her nightgown before the sun was up, he knew something was wrong. Stress made her unaware of her appearance, but Erik noticed. He hated himself for thinking about that when Christine was so upset.

"Henri's dead," she said immediately, answering his questions before he could voice them, "Meg accidentally killed him. You need to leave." She was in tears before she finished the speech. She had repressed her fears about Meg, but the emotions were starting to pour out along with her tears.

"Did you come here to say goodbye?" Erik asked, unsure of how to react to Christine crying.

"No. If you're going to run, I want to come with you," Christine said.

"I can't ask you to leave everything here behind. You have to stay."

"You forget that if they find anything about you, fingers will point to me. I'm stuck with you, whether you like it or not."

"I shouldn't be ruining everything for you," Erik said. He should have known that his romance with Christine was doomed, but he was only beginning to accept it now. If he was supposed to be with her, he wouldn't look the way he did.

"We can find another opera if we need to," Christine said, her mind starting to fill with possibilities, "or we can make some excuse and come back here when this all blows over"

Erik was pained by how sincere and eager Christine was, and he knew he couldn't refuse her, even if he thought she was making the wrong decision.

"Go pack. Say goodbye to the Girys if you can and meet me here," he said.

Christine hugged him quickly and tightly before she ran back upstairs. He felt her warm skin under her nightgown; it was very different than the corset or petticoats he was used to. Christine didn't notice, but she was aware that he was somehow acquiescing to her. She wasn't quite sure why, but she was grateful for it anyway.

"Thank you," she whispered.

When she returned to her room, Christine packed hurriedly, throwing her clothes into a bag without really paying attention or folding them. All she wanted to do was leave because she was sure she'd be back at the opera soon. In her haste to depart, she didn't even write a note to Meg or Madame Giry.

Christine hoisted her bag over her shoulder and went down once more to the cellars of the opera.

**The End**

**Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! This story would not have gotten to the end if it were not for your support and criticisms. I apologize very much for the lateness of the final chapter, but it was hard for me to really say that I was done.  
**


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